


Madness

by Pellaeonthewingedlion



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Play, BDSM, Bondage, Boot Worship, Choking, Collars, Cunnilingus, Discipline, Dom Sansa, Dom Tyrion, Dom/sub, Don't take it too seriously, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Masturbation, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parody, Sexual Slavery, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Sub Margaery, Voyeurism, couple infernale (eventually(maybe)), porn with little plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-22 16:22:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6086527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pellaeonthewingedlion/pseuds/Pellaeonthewingedlion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither Sansa nor Tyrion would have ever predicted the wheels that started turning, when Joffrey once again unleashed his madness</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The present

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing

Breathing heavily Sansa collapsed limp at Tyrion’s side, sweat running down her pale skin, soaking the bedsheet. The remains of her peak still lingering hot in her blood, she cradled herself close to the loudly panting Tyrion, resting her head in the crotch of his neck. She could feel his heartbeat booming, closing the last inches between them, pressing her naked body against his, feeling him pressing a soft kiss on her forehead with a satisfied groan.

Sansa had had no notion how pleasurable their joining could be, how much peace and content she found in the embrace of the little, deformed man she had been forced to marry, but had come to appreciate once she had realised the kindness and worship he showed her.

She had been afraid of their joining first, not willing to give him the permission, he had granted her to grant, in their wedding night. Eventually she had done it, because she had seen no other path anymore, a decision born out of desperation, which, against all odds, for the first time in nearly two long years, had not brought her sorrow.

It had happened, after they had found Dontos, not two days after she had learned of Robb’s and her mother’s brutal faith at the Twins. The Kingsguard had dragged her before Joffrey, Lord Tywin beside him, both ready to make an example out of her. Joffrey’s cruel grin had frozen Sansa’s blood. They had wanted to whip her to death, a symbol of how they dealt with traitors.

But Tyrion had stopped them, he had come to her protection, again. He stood between her kneeling, weeping self and them, fending them off, before he took her away to the safety of their chambers.

“I have made promises to you. I owe you protection.” He had told her. “I am not angry about what you planned. Who could blame you, trying to escape me?” He had said. He had come up to her, she completely decomposed and at the brink of her sanity, laid a hand on her cheek. “No harm will come to you, my Lady Wife, as long as I am there to stop it.”

Sansa had looked in his face, in is horrible marred face and saw the truth in his eyes. She didn’t know what had befallen her next, but she had slung her arms around him, crying in his shoulder for the first time. He had hold her, patted her back and had stayed silent for her, like a rock. She had relished his comfort, the first time since her father’s death she had let loose, letting him console her.

In the evening she had realised, he was the only thing she had left in the world, the only one there for her, what a wicked faith. Thus she had made a decision: Mustering all her courage she had took his hand, guided him to their bed. He had been hesitant, unwilling even, but Sansa had insisted until his defiance broke. What followed was more than she had expected.

He might be the ugliest man in the seven Kingdoms, but when he had been between Sansa’s legs, his tongue working wonders between her folds, Sansa had forgotten everything around her, exploding with heat. He had tenderly kissed his way up afterwards, waiting for her permission – she had granted it. The pain had been negligible, after what he had done to her folds. She had peaked again under his ministration.

Since that night Sansa had changed her perception of her predicament. She now longer loathed the circumstances of her marriage, neither felt she despaired that Tyrion was all she had left, but she started finding delight in what she had. A husband that adored, maybe even loved her. – He said often that he loved her, but never was she sure.

Since that faithful night, a moon ago, they enjoyed themselves often, and with that, their relationship had grown. Sansa now appreciated his company, his wit and charm. Sometimes, she fell back into her old timid self, but not very often. Tyrion however pushed her boundaries nearly every day to greater levels of familiarity. She let him, because once again she started to feel happiness, even in this dark place they were stuck in for now.

Snuggling closer to Tyrion, with his arm around her, while his other pulled the covers over them, Sansa smiled, a satisfied moan escaping her lips. Nonetheless, her mind wandered to the day, they had, Joffrey’s wedding with poor Margaery.

Sansa pitied the poor girl, to have to suffer that monster. She was lucky, Joffrey’s interest towards her had faded utterly, so even at this black day Sansa had been at peace. – Not without Tyrion’s effort.

“We can do better than them, don’t we?” He had pointed at a couple at another table. The man had laid his hand on the woman’s thigh, making her giggle childishly.

“We can” had been Sansa’s only response, before taking his hand and moving it slowly over her body, leaning in to nibble at his neck in the public of the hall. It had been a good day.

A loud boom from the other room ripped Sansa out of her pleasant memory. She shrieked up in sudden panic, clutching the blanked to her bare chest. Tyrion swung up even quicker, his right hand fumbling on the nightstand when Joffrey’s voice sounded through the door.

“Uncle, where are you?”

-##-

What madness had befallen his dreadful nephew this time? Tyrion asked himself, jumping out of the bed. Exhausted he looked confused where he had put his dagger.

“Come out, come out. Your King awaits you” Joffrey sounded way too cheerful for his taste, making Tyrion’s blood run faster. Concerned he turned towards Sansa, she was clutching the blanked to her chest, her face pale in the moonlight. He gestured her with his hand to calm down before searching for his trousers and an undershirt. While he did so Sansa was climbing out of the bed behind him, putting on a simple gown. When Tyrion noticed, he shook his head silently, wanting her to stay save behind, but she only narrowing her eyes, silently signalling him she wouldn’t stay naked with Joffrey in the next room.

Tyrion quickly pointed her towards the chest, he now remembered, his dagger waited in, motioning her to take it with her, before he made his way to the main room of their chambers. He slipped through the door crack, not baring Sansa to the gaze of his ‘guest’.

“It is way past midnight. What are you doing here?” he grumbled irately, filling his voice with as much strength and authority he could muster once he beheld his nephew standing in his chambers, Ser Boros behind him. “Aren’t you supposed to sniff a rose or something?”

Before Joffrey could answer, the door behind Tyrion opened, and slowly Sansa tiptoed in the room. Tyrion turned his head, worries written over his features. Sansa looked frightened, one hand gripping the door, while the other was inside her unrevealing gown, probably tightened around the hilt of his dagger.

“Ah, my dear Aunt, good, you joint us” Joffrey smirked maliciously, making Tyrion’s blood freeze, cold sweat ran down his spine.

“Don’t you eve…” Tyrion began, fury in his voice, when he remembered Joffrey threats towards Sansa.

“Don’t be so dramatic sweet uncle” Joffrey cut him off, chuckling coldly. “I wouldn’t want to come near something you _touched_ ” he added with discussed in his voice, not regarding Sansa further. Tyrion wanted to jump him for the insult, but thought better of it. Instead he turned his head back to Sansa, the feeling of guilt washing over him, feeling he was a defiler.

But Sansa seemed not to mind Joffrey’s commentary, instead of looking shocked or offended, she actually seemed to relax a bit. Letting go of the door, she stepped closer to Tyrion, not shying away to let her free hand rest on his shoulder. The gesture filled Tyrion with so much love for her.

“I am here with a present for you uncle, for you and your wife.” Joffrey demanded the attention of the room back, snapping his fingers, smirking.

Suspiciously Tyrion’s eyes followed Ser Boros out of the room, his confusion growing with every moment. When the white clad knight stepped back in, he threw a shrieking form before Joffrey, brown curls hitting the floor of the chamber, the clatter of metal echoing through the room.

A surprised squeak escaped Sansa’s mouth, her hand gripping tight in Tyrion’s shoulder to the point of pain. Tyrion’s mismatched eyes widened in realisation, his mouth gaping open.

“She is for you” Joffrey declared, once again signalling Ser Boros. Joffrey’s minion grabbed the whimpering woman’s hair, forcing her in a kneeling position, holding back her head, revealing the red, crying face of Margaery Tyrell.

“Are you insane?” Tyrion spat out, trying to move forward but Sansa’s hand was still anchored tight in his shoulder. “She is...”

“A whore, uncle” Joffrey commented matter-of-factly, signalling Blount again, the Kingsguard man produced a sealed parchment throwing it at Tyrion’s feet. “Now she is yours.”

“What?” Tyrion’s puzzlement reached new heights – was he dreaming? He took up the parchment, starring from it to the poor girl, kneeling naked on the floor, to Joffrey and then to Sansa, questioning her with his yes if he dreamed. His wife was pale like snow starring at the scene, frozen.

“I had sadly to discover that she isn’t as pure as I was made to believe” Joffrey started explaining, face contorted in dark amusement. He paced close to the girl, Tyrion now noticed had silver cuffs on her wrists, ankles and a silver metal collar tight around her neck.

“Your Grace, please” Margaery whimpered pitifully. Joffrey raised his arm in response. She shrieked back.

“Don’t you dare!” Tyrion put all force and danger he had in his voice, his eyes starring Joffrey down, despite their peculiar situation. His nephew looked uncertain, luckily he simply shrugged and lowered his arm.

“If you wish. I won’t damage your new possession.” He grinned smugly stepping back.

“What are you talking about?” Tyrion was near losing his countenance, and close to screaming.

“I was explaining that just now.” Joffrey clearly enjoyed himself. “I will not be marry to used whore. When I found out, I remembered I owe you a debt for losing your nose, - even if it may be an improvement to your face, - and trying to defend my city, of course.” Joffrey wiggled his finger towards the parchment in Tyrion’s hand. When had his nephew become so calculating in his madness? “You hold a royal decree, from me tonight. I made dear Margaery, by my law, to your concubine,” Joffrey reached down and took Margaery’s face in his hand, ripping it in Tyrion’s direction, “or slave, if you prefer that term.”

“You are insane!” Tyrion commented, his utter helplessness to help the girl in Joffrey’s grip made his blood boiled. Without Bronn or Pod he stood no chance against Ser Boros.

“By decree I took away her name, her title and claims, and of course the marriage. As is my right.” Joffrey empathized. “I even had this nice jewellery attached for you – it was quite a challenge on such a short notice – first I thought gold, but that would be too good for her.” Joffrey let go of the girl, Tyrion felt Sansa’s fingers digging in to him to the point he feared blood. “I also had Pycelle give her a certain drug.” Joffrey smirked evilly. “He guaranteed, it would scrap her womb so clean she would be barren.” Sansa’s squealed again hearing that, Tyrion could detect anger in her sound, the same anger that he felt. But Joffrey wasn’t finish: “So what good is she, other than being a pleasure slave, your – and maybe your wife’s – slave.” He looked too pleased with himself.

“If you think we will indulge your madness, you are mistaken.” Tyrion shaking finger aimed at Joffrey.

“I made her your possession!” Joffrey suddenly screeched at him. Before he ordered further: “You will do as I say. Take her, _and_ use her. Or I make her dangle from a rope after giving her to the City guard. Do you want that?”

Without further comment, Joffrey turned on his heels, strolling out with his muscle obediently behind him. Letting his three plaything behind.

-##-

Sansa starred shocked at the scene unfolded before her. The naked Margaery had curled herself into a ball on the floor, weeping openly now. Tyrion was pinned where he stood, not moving. Sansa felt sick, sick and nauseated by what she had just witnessed, how could he?

Freeing herself out of her state, she first let go of the dagger, she had kept in her gown, letting it fall to a floor with a lout clang, before letting go of Tyrion’s shoulder, regretting the pain she might have caused him. She rushed at Margaery’s side, remembering how she had felt after Joffrey’s last beating, the one Tyrion had stopped.

Not thinking further, Sansa laid her arms around Margaery, carefully holding her cold flesh. She helped her up, putting an arm around the older girl, Sansa tried to stand her up. She looked up to Tyrion but he was still frozen, the parchment in his hand. She made a very unladylike grunt, catching his attention, silently gesturing him to open the door to their bedroom. He understood her immediately, opening the door while Sansa but all her strength in supporting Margaery, so she could guide her to the bedroom.

Passing Tyrion she saw how he had turned his head away, not leering at the naked flesh. Sansa managed, with unexpectedly great effort to lay Margaery down on their bed, which was still damp from their lovemaking, but that had to be insignificant now. To her horror, Sansa entangled a strain of her hair in one of Margaery’s cuffs, ripping a few auburn hairs painfully out of her scalp, forcing her attention to the barbaric devices.

Margaery turned away from her, not stopping her weeping. Understanding Sansa wanted to let her, but she couldn’t just yet. She lit some candles to illuminate the room better, before getting a damp cloth and a bowl of water to at least attempt to help the injured woman.

Back at Margaery’s site Sansa gently pushed her on her back, lying the damp cloth on her forehead first. Their eyes met, Sansa saw the pain and desperation in them, only for a split second, before Margaery tried to avert her eyes again.

“Can I come in?” Tyrion’s voice made her notice that he still waited at the door. Glancing over, she found him standing in the doorway, his back towards them, his eyes on the ground. Looking at Margaery, Sansa tried to decide what would be wiser, weighting the girl’s faint dignity left to the question if she could take care of her alone, she wouldn’t dare to call for help, not now, maybe Joffrey waited for that with a more horrible trap.

“Yes.” Sansa called over her shoulder. “And bring wine.” She added quickly, thinking it might help, not to mention she craved it herself.

She brought her attention back to Margaery, cleaning her red and puffy face, before proceeding to her neck, appalled by the tight silver metal collar with an O-ring at the front. The collar was nearly close enough to her skin to choke her. From the other room Sansa heard Tyrion bolting the door shut, sighing with relieve for his awareness before she proceeded washing the shaking girl, only pausing shortly to pull the blanked over the part of her body she didn’t wash, to shield it from the cold – and eyes.

She was at the left elbow when Tyrion waddled in, a flask of wine and three cups on a tablet, together with the roll of parchment. She followed him with her eyes, he placed the tablet on a table away from the bed. He filled a cup and drowned it in one gulp, sighing loudly.

“That, I didn’t thought possible” He said resigning while filling another cup. He went towards Sansa, circling the end of the bed to her site and let her take the cup before going back.

“Me neither” Sansa agreed with him, placing the cup on the nightstand and pushing Margaery in a sitting position. The woman pulled her knees under her chin, franticly holding up the blanked to protect herself. Sansa patiently held the cup towards her urging her to drink, trying to smile reassuringly, but failed.

Margaery, shy like a dear, suspicion in her eyes, took the cup, sniffling terribly. While she took a sip Tyrion reappeared at Sansa’s side handing her another cup before leaving to his place again, deliberately keeping a distance to Margaery. Remembering how she had been after her abuse, Sansa approved of his precaution, even little men were terrifying in such a moment.

“I will have Bronn and Pod stand guard first thing in the morning” Tyrion told her, after he had refilled his cup. Sansa listened to him while she continued to gently clean Margaery. “Then I will talk to my father, this madness is beyond anything.” Sansa looked up seeing him wiggle the still sealed parchment. “The Tyrells will run havoc for this.”

Sansa nodded absently, anxiety filling her, more and more. She now had reached the first wrist cuff, again with an O-ring. She was carefully cleaning around it when Margaery flinched. Fearing she would have hurt her, Sansa showed Margaery her hands waiting patiently until she allowed her to touch her again. Sansa inspected the wrist in the light of the candles, screeching in shock.

“She is burned” She exhaled loudly, looking up at Tyrion. Her husband immediately rushed to her side, inspecting the small burn marks himself.

“Gods” He shook his head burying his face in his hand, he turned around, hands moving to his head. “Madness!”

“What is it” Sansa said fearfully.

“He had the wristbands bolted together glowing.” Tyrion explained, looking wearily. “Glowing hot studs, so they would never be broken, without cutting the cuffs.” He gestured to Margaery. “And seeing how tight they are, I doubt they can be cut without serious injuries, especially at the collar.”

Sansa was horrified, she glanced at Margaery and back to Tyrion: “So you mean she will never lose them?”

“Like my sweet, sweet nephew most likely intended, scary how he could hatch such a plan with his tiny brain.”

Until sunup Sansa was carefully cleaning Margaery, she never said a word, just hid from Tyrion’s eyes whenever he got close in order to change the water for Sansa, or brought fresh cloths.

At first light Tyrion was leaving, after instructing his squire and Ser Bronn to stand guard, letting Sansa and Margaery alone only with her handmaid Brella. Sansa felt exhausted, she wanted nothing but sleep, while at the same time not being able to do so, her blood ran fast through her veins. Her eyes hurt terribly, and her breath was unregularly. Nevertheless, she stayed at Margaery’s side. They maybe had never been true friends, but Sansa felt an obligation to help her, because she knew, at least in parts, how much she suffered.

Brella helped Sansa to dress Margaery in one of Sansa’s gowns, so ill-fitting the hem didn’t reach the ankle cuffs, and brought food before Sansa dismissed her, she didn’t want to distress Margaery with the presents of too many people. Sansa figured, herself and Tyrion had already been to many over the night.

Sansa was sitting on the bed at Margaery’s side, leaning against the headboard, her eyes half closed, when a small breath escaped her neighbour.

“They killed him” Margaery whispered, catching Sansa immediate attention.

“Whom?” she asked gently, putting her hand on Margaery’s shoulder.

“Loras” Margaery snivelled, turning Sansa’s inside to ice. The Knight of the Flowers was dead? How could there be no bloodshed soon? “He wanted to protect me” Margaery sobbed, holding at Sansa’s arm, she let her, petting her head.

-##-

Still distraught, and really disordered, Tyrion passed the threshold of his and Sansa’s chambers, maybe an hour before noon finding Sansa at the table alone, picking at some grapes. She looked exhausted, with dark rings around her eyes and rumpled hair. Beautiful as ever. Would the situation be different he would have tried to lure her into their bed, she looked as stunning as in her best gown.

“How was it?” She asked looking up from her plate, not bothering to stand up for him. Tyrion felt a quick rush at that, her familiarity with him now wouldn’t have been possible a month prior.

Sighing he made his way towards her, dragging a chair, he grabbed on the way, besides her, with loud scraping. He climbed on the chair and let himself slump in it, reaching with his hand to take hold of hers.

“They are all mad!” he puffed out, guiding her hand towards him stroking it absently.

“That sounds bad” She agreed, averting her eyes and added sadly “Margaery told me Ser Loras...”

“…died valiantly defending his sister.” Tyrion finished her sentence, a pang of jealously boiling up in him, seeing that the death of the man affected her – was it more than pity for Margaery? He shook of his feeling, continuing his account: “There will be however no more bloodshed.” He explained to a surprised Sansa. “My father, apparently, anticipated problems – even not such a mountain of manure – So the Tyrells are neutralised and forced to settle on a deal. And as far as I can foresee it, at this very moment, they discuss what happens next. One of them will get Margaery soon I presume.” Tyrion assured a clearly relieved Sansa. For the situation, these were good news.

“Really?” came a meek voice from the other side of the room. Tyrion looked up, finding Margaery standing in the doorway to the bedroom, wearing a loose fitting gown of Sansa’s not able to hide her cuffs on wrists, ankles or neck.

“Yes” Tyrion assured her, feeling how Sansa gave his hand an affectionate tuck.

As if rehearsed, a knock at the door took all attention in the room. Tyrion turned his head hearing Bronn’s voice from behind the thick wood.

“Ser Garlan is here!”

“Let him in!” Tyrion practically screamed back, leaning back in his chair, smiling up to Sansa at his side, she looked pleased as he was that Margaery could finally leave them.

“Garlan!” Margaery squealed as soon as her brother stepped in the room, wearing a green doublet with his two roses. She ran towards him, swinging her arms around his neck, beginning to sniffle. The scene was heart-warming. But Tyrion looked concerned to his wife, who observed them with a little tear on her cheek.

_She long wished for a similar rescue._ Tyrion reminded himself, bitter feelings about Robb Stark’s death coming up in him.

“Margy” Ser Garlan said, way too heavy-hearted for Tyrion’s liking, he took her at the arms and pushed her away from him, earning a confused look from all in the room. “Margy…” he stammered, averting his eyes helplessly.

“What is it?” Margaery asked, panic in her tone, looking up at her brother, frozen to the ground.

“Father has, he has” Ser Garlan continued stammering gesturing with his arms.

“Spit it out!” Tyrion spat at the man frustrated, startling both Tyrells, which most likely had forgotten about their audience.

“He has...” Ser Garlan turned his head to the ground, remembering Tyrion of Pod’s demeanour. “He has disowned you.”

“What!” Margaery cried out, her surprise not minder that of Tyrion or Sansa’s, who’s Tyrion could feel through her tightened hand.

“He has apologised to the King, and declared he didn’t know of your, eh, situation” Ser Garlan continued for the shaken Margaery, his eyes averted to the ground his discomfort and anxiety visible in his face. “He further acknowledges the King’s decree about your, eh, _status_ and sworn to reinforce it”

“What!” Margaery asked again desperately, shaking visible. “Grandmother…”

“Is forbidden to see you, as well as all of us from the moment I leave.” By these pressed out words from the knight Margaery broke, but no tears were streaming down her face, she simply turned and left, closing the door to the bedroom behind her.

Tyrion felt Sansa trying to pull her hand away, maybe to run after Margaery but Tyrion stopped her. He looked up to her, with deep sadness he shook his head. He saw she understood, she fell back in her chair, looking deeply troubled.

Tyrion looked up, seeing the knight of Highgarden with slumped down shoulders stand in his room, looking absently at the bedroom door, his sadness turned to fury.

“What is wrong with you?” He barked angrily, jumping from his chair and marched over to the Tyrell screaming at him from the side: “She is your sister! Did someone stuffed your hollow head with rose petals?”

“The King…” Ser Garlan turned towards Tyrion to justify himself but Tyrion wasn’t finished:

“Fuck the King! To the seven hells with him. Listen to me!” He said: “Tonight you get her, and leave, easy as that. Flee to the free cities or even further, but leave. We won’t see anything” Tyrion exclaimed, turning to Sansa, his ego swelling with pride seeing the look of respect and support she gave him.

“Impossible we can’t” The knight contorting himself. Tyrion could see he wanted to take the offer. “This battle is lost.”

“She is your sister” Tyrion accused him unbelieving, ready to slap him hard, even he would safe his sister out of such predicament, and his sister was Cersei.

“That is why I will do this” Ser Garlan drew his sword, causing Tyrion to jump back, in the background he heard how Sansa hopped up from her chair. But Ser Garlan didn’t attack him, he went on his knee, offering his sword towards Tyrion: “I know Lannister pay their debts. Do you also take debts from others?”

“Always” Tyrion confirmed confused, what was happening?

“Then take this dept.” Ser Garlan lowered his head. “Take good care of my sister, and I will, no matter the reason, no matter the circumstances hear your call and be at your side with my sword, my life, my claim. This is my oath.”

“Of course we will” Sansa was the first to answer the knight’s wish. Tyrion looked over his shoulder seeing her standing straight, the image of a queen. She nodded. Tyrion turned back to the knight, still waiting for his response.

“As she says” Tyrion assured the man, who had regained partly the respect he had lost not moments earlier. “We will keep her safe.”

Gulping audibly Ser Garlan nodded and rose to his feet, waiting a moment before leaving, his eyes on his shoes.

_As if I need a second Pod._ Tyrion thought, he turned and walked back to Sansa, seating himself back in his chair beside her.

“That was very painful.” He declared, sighing.

“Oh yes,” she agreed, taking a sip of her cup.

_Good idea_ Tyrion thought filling a cup for himself and drowned it nearly half in a single gulp. His mind began to wander.

“And what will we do now, with our new addition to the household?” he formed words out of his thoughts, turning in his seat so he could face Sansa comfortably.

“I have no idea.” She admitted, looking overwhelmed by the entire situation.

“Don’t you need a new Handmaid? Since the last one left. You know …” Tyrion asked, feigning ignorance towards Shae, the whore he had dismissed the day after Sansa had allowed him near her.

“Shae” Sansa helped him out, blissfully ignorant about Tyrion’s misdeeds. “Hopefully the King will accept that.”

“You mean because he wants her to be our pleasure slave?” Tyrion asked, still not gasping the concept of Joffrey’s madness completely. Did he thought it humiliating for her to be his whore in particular – most likely?

“Ours?” Sansa asked confused, mustering him suspiciously.

“OH yes” Tyrion grinned a falsely mischievous smile. “I am sure she would please you well.”

“So you want her in our bed?” Sansa asked, taken aback, her eyes narrowing dangerously. Tyrion felt a knot in his throat suddenly. – _Bad idea!_

“This is one of the sort of questions I can’t win, right?” He inquired carefully, ducking his head down. Sansa raised an eyebrow, so he elaborated: “If I say no, you will accuse me of lying, and if I say yes, I am the unfaithful whoremonger. Both outcomes see you outraged and me sleeping alone.”

“So you want her?” Sansa asked him, her demeanour not betraying her real thoughts.

“Isn’t wanting her, what is perfectly natural, but not acting on it, proof of my loyalty and affection for you?” Tyrion tried to appease her, having the feeling it wasn’t going well for him.

“Mhm” Sansa let out a small sound, a small smile playing on her lips while she turned towards her plate again. Tyrion had a bad feeling about this, he wanted to say something, but the door to the bedroom interrupted his preparations.

Both turned their attention towards the door that had swung open seemingly by itself. Tyrion crooked his head to the side in stupefaction.

Out of the door strode Margaery Tyrell, naked as on the day of her birth, only the silver metal shackles on her. With widening eyes, and to his shame, a slowly rising cock, Tyrion observed how she walked through the room, her brown, curly hair behind her shoulders putting the collar on display as much as her round breasts. She had lowered her head, looking at her bare feet. However she managed to navigate the room, until she came to a stop at a point where no table was between her and Sansa and Tyrion.

Tyrion couldn’t look away, no matter how much he tried, her skin and body demanded to be looked at. Only for a moment he could free himself, out of the mixture of arousal and confusion that overwhelmed him, to look at his wife. He found her equally dumfounded, starring at Margaery open mouthed. When he turned back, he mustered the girl again. There weren’t much signs of abuse on her body, at least on the outside. His gaze fell inadvertently on the region between her legs, finding no brown curls but bare flesh, as well as on her legs. Wandering back up, trying to avoid her breasts he hoped to catch a glimpse of her eyes. They were a mixture, Tyrion had never seen: Determination and emptiness combined, focused on the ground, while an inner struggle played on her face.

Sansa moved her hand to his shoulders, tugging him backwards, he freed himself of the sight, turning his head back to his wife. Sansa gave him a questioning look, searching for answers in his eyes. Void of them, Tyrion shrugged helpless, his eyes torn open wide, wiggling empty hands in the air, equally unwitting.

“Master, Mistress” they finally heard Margaery speak in a docile voice, they turned their attention back to her.

Margaery didn’t look up, instead she let herself sink to her knees on the cold floor, before bending down, pressing her face to the ground, with her hands at her side and her round ass in the air.

“I am your slave” Was the next thing she said, but Tyrion did only listen to her absently, too shocked to response or notice. _What the seven fucks!!!_

“Stand up” Sansa freed herself apparently quicker out of her frozen state than Tyrion, ripping him out behind her “You are no slave.”

“I am“ Margaery objected, not moving.

“Nonsense” Tyrion stepped to Sansa’s aid “You will stand up now. I don’t care what Joffrey or your father thinks you are not…”

“I have decided” Margaery interrupted him. “Better your slave, than their world. This is my decision”

Tyrion’s confusion reached the point of physical pain. Had everyone else gone mad while Sansa and he had been doing it?

“What now?” Sansa had leaned close to him, hissing in his ear, he turned, finding her eyes fixed on Margaery. “This is madness!”

“It is” he whispered back, hoping Margaery wouldn’t be able to hear them. “She can’t...” he lowly stuttered, no longer understanding the world.

“Yes, but she doesn’t want to stand up” Sansa stated helplessly, looking at her. “What shall we do?” Tyrion had no idea what to do. Margaery definitely had made some hasty decision, but how to make her undo it?

“We will scare her!” He whispered a sudden epiphany in Sansa’s ear. He turned to her fully, seeing a stunned face. So he explained: “We show her how unpleasant it can be to be a slave. She will stop this madness then.”

“How?” Sansa asked uncertain, glancing back and forth between him and her. Tyrion grinned lightly, raising his finger to his eye, waiting until Sansa gave him a silent consent for his plan. She didn’t look contented.

“Slave!” Tyrion addressed Margaery in an authoritative tone – as good as he could muster – looking to his side he saw how Sansa also tried to look imposing. He ordered: “Rise to the knees!”

“Master” Margaery replied subservient, rising her upper body, folding her hands on her lap.

“You already failed your duty slave” Tyrion made it up as he went along, in a stern voice, not sure if he would vomit in self-disgust, because a little part of him enjoyed it, or would start laughing, trying to keep a straight face. “A slave never disobeys her mistress. So you have to be educated.” Tyrion’s cock began to twitch by his words and the sight, he hoped Sansa wouldn’t notice. “Bend over the table, ass in the air!” he gestured to a small table behind Margaery.

The girl looked at him in a mixture of confusion and fear. Tyrion considered his task already completed.

“Or do you thought better of your decision?”

“Master” Margaery stunned him again, when she rose hesitantly to her feet, slowly making her way to the ordered table, bending her upper body over the wood. Her round ass looked mouth-watering, her folds in part exposed to his gaze.

Tyrion rubbed his forehead. _Madness!_

“What now?” Sansa hissed in his ear pressuring, gesturing towards Margaery with frantic eyes.

“Spank her!” Tyrion answered without a better plan, his cock seeming to like that.

“WHAT!” Sansa’s mouth contracted in a silent shout. “Why me?”

“She disobeyed you” He explained, not wanting to do it, or did he? “Not to mention you won’t need a stool to stand on” he gestured towards the bend over behind of the Rose of Highgarden.

Sansa made the gesture of scratching her face with her fingers straining in tension “Are you mad as well?”

“Just a few slaps. Enough to make her reconsider” Tyrion tried to convince her whispering. He looked at her, she was as lost in the situation as he was.

Sansa exhaled a low growl, she rose up straight in a fluid but fast motion, carefully approaching Margaery’s ass. Tyrion couldn’t believe what he was about to see.

Sansa came to a halt left of Margaery’s legs, eying her behind first before giving Tyrion a confused look. He encouraged her with silent gestures, uncomfortable in his own skin, before saying, in his broken master-voice:

“Your Mistress will now discipline you, slave.” He gestured to Sansa to start. His lovely wife shot him a glare before mustering Margaery’s buttocks closer. She tried to figure out what to do with her hand, struggling to find the right gesture. Tyrion observed how she hovered her flat palm over Margaery’s left bum cheek, moving her hand over it. The sight shortened Tyrion’s breath, his cock was nearly releasing his seed.

Sansa lingered over Margaery’s skin for another moment, clearly still uncertain, her white porcelain skin a contrast to Margaery’s complexions. Cautiously she raised her palm, letting it float in the air before she brought it down on the bare flesh. A nearly silent smack went through the room, Sansa’s hand connected lightly with Margaery’s skin.

To Tyrion’s and, visibly, Sansa’s further confusion, the reaction wasn’t a little cry, but a gentle moan.

Sansa turned helplessly to Tyrion, her eyes, her beautiful eyes lost, her mouth open.

Sighing heavily Tyrion fisted his hair, lost as well. He slowly closed and opened his eyes, Sansa was still waiting. He sighed again, shrugging and encouraging her to hit harder with wild gestures. Sansa crooked her head, grumbled audibly and raised her palm again. – What the fuck was wrong today?

The next time her palm hit Margaery, this time her other cheek, the smack was clearly to hear and Margaery’s reacting was more squeaking than moan.

_At least something_ Tyrion thought, not sure if he should feel frustrated, guilty, or finally following the need of his painfully hard cock, taking it out and using his hand for a clearly short whipping.

Sansa brought her hand back above her target, Tyrion saw how she bit her lip before delivering another blow to the round mounds, this time the smack echoed in the room and a whimper followed, Margaery spread her legs slightly, but nothing else.

With a cock growing harder, and the fear he would spill his seed in his breeches soon Tyrion witnessed Sansa bringing her hand down on the naked flesh of Margaery another three times. She switched carefully between both sides, finding a short rhythm, however without further result. Margaery didn’t say a word only letting small whimpers out.

Visibly tense Sansa turned away from the girl, facing Tyrion shrugging and throwing her hands in the air. Tyrion was at the point he couldn’t really think anymore. All he wanted was to go over there, throw Sansa on the ground and fuck her senseless. His eyes burning with lust. Sansa saw that, he knew it, but she didn’t reacted outraged about it, rather receptive. Was she aroused as well?

_Oh gods, what is going on?_

Suddenly He saw how Sansa wrinkled her nose, glancing at him before turning towards Margaery. She was mustering her, the girl’s round cheeks reddened, but not much, by Sansa’s administrations. Sansa was closing in, looking back at him before focusing her eyes between Margaery’s legs.

Tyrion couldn’t believe what he saw, his hands gripping the armrests so hard his knuckles turned white, he grinded his teeth when Sansa tentatively reached out with her hand. Margaery opened her legs little more to grant better access. He couldn’t stop it anymore, the moment he saw Sansa’s hand, his innocent wife’s hand, connecting, only so little, with Margaery’s folds he let out a long, loud, ashamed groan, his seed spilling in his cloth.

Sansa straightened up, looking at him, surprisingly not judgingly or angry. She was absently rubbing her fingers together:

“She is wet!”


	2. Slave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing

“She is wet!” Sansa exclaimed bewildered, her heart hammering in her chest from excitement. She rubbed her fingers, coated with the older girl’s fluids together absently, glancing confused at her husband. Margaery was slightly panting behind her, whimpering lowly, the scent of her arousal filling the air around Sansa.

Unbelieving of what just had happened, Sansa searched help with Tyrion, finding him having his hands wound tightly around the armrests of the chair. She recognised the expression on his face, the look of heated lust, like when he filled her with his seed, mixed with a sort of embarrassment, but also growing lust.

Sansa’s blood rushed faster through her body, whipped by a similar sensation, her smallclothes dampened by her own arousal. She glanced quickly back to Margaery, the girl was still obediently bend over the table, her lightly pink, round arse pushed up in the air, her legs slightly opened, like welcoming Sansa.

Her hand felt filled with small needles tingling her skin, an urge to feel the girl’s skin clashing with her palm again. The thought causing her folds to moisten further, arousal burning in her. – What was wrong with her, how could she enjoy that? Why wanted she more?

Mortified by her own wants, she turned back to Tyrion, hoping for a solution. He had not moved, however, the heat in his mismatched eyes had intensified, making her quiver in lust. She needed him, needed him now.

With long steps she crossed the distance between them, trying to get away from Margaery before she couldn’t help herself anymore. Stopping at his side, she locked her eyes with his, a quick glance over him, betraying what had happened in his breeches. Even so, instead of appalling her, she felt the heat growing once more, a small sigh escaping her. She wanted him badly.

In mutual understanding, Sansa reached out and freed one of his hands from the armrest. Pulling Tyrion from his chair, she dragged him behind her towards the bedroom, her vision narrowing to the door, sweat forming on her back.

At the instant they reached their bed, Margaery was forgotten. Sansa carelessly kicked of her shoes, beforehand pulling her gown over her head, together with her smallclothes, feeling her own dampness gliding over her belly.

She let herself fall down, back first, on their soft bed, scrambling to the headboard, she propped herself against it, trembling in anticipation. Sansa removed a wild strand of auburn hair out of her face, finding Tyrion still jumping around wildly, struggling rushed to remove his trousers. Finally free, he climbed hastily on the bed, gazing up to Sansa. She spread her long white legs welcoming, licking her lips teasingly.

He was already hard again. With a predatory grin, he crawled quickly between her legs, bringing his head close to hers. Sansa didn’t waste any more time, moving forward, she pressed her lips against his, one of her legs crooking around his hip. Tyrion cupped both of her cheeks, his hot breath on her face. Sansa opened her mouth further, welcoming his tongue in her mouth, her hand going towards the back of his neck, while their teeth clicked together in their heated demand.

A small, but strong hand moved down her cheek, gliding his soft skin luscious over her neck, further down. Sansa moaned against his mouth after he reached her breast, letting his finger move over her nipple, encircling it, making her mummer a husky “Yes”. Sansa buckled her hips, needing him inside her.

Tyrion however apparently decided to torture her more. Moving his lips down suckling at her pulse, while his free hand took his manhood and let it hover over her glistering folds, not penetration her but teasing her with is hot flesh.

“Not fair” Sansa whined wantonly, her breath going short. She moved her hips, seeking friction over the soft surface of his manhood, moaning whenever his purple head grazed her wetness, ready to go in. Closing her eyes, she let her lust take over completely. Urging Tyrion further down She hooked her legs together behind him, moving her hips to another angle, trying to force him in.

He understood the hint, but moved torturously slow, aligning his manhood with the new angle. Her husband moved further down on her, kissing down her chest, before taking her other nipple in his mouth, sucking at it gently, his tongue sliding over it, while rolling the other between his fingers.

Sansa moaned loudly, more insistent, buckling her hips again, slowly penetrating herself on his member. He stretched her wet womanhood, animalistic sounds escaping her in her need, hot sweat pooling around her. In one sudden, delicious trust Tyrion pushed in her to the rim, biting down on her nipple lightly, Sansa screamed in ecstasy.

He continued to slowly move in and out of her, making her moan loudly, he used his free hand to let two fingers graze over the bud in her folds, making her buckle. She met his trusts eagerly, pushing herself up and down with her hands on his shoulders. Her legs went undone, a stream of pleasure moans escaping her, while he moved inside her walls

Tyrion unexpectedly let go of her nipple, making her grumble in protest. He smiled up to her, his face twisting in a lust matching her own, she panted nodding towards him.

He slightly speed up his pace, grapping her hips with both hands he pulled her hips back, using his unnatural strong arms. Sansa sacked down fully on her back, using her legs to once again adjust the angle, letting him deeper inside her.

In this position Tyrion’s head only reached to her neck, forcing him to focus his attention on her sternum, licking his way over the curves of her breasts while one of his hands returned to its task in tandem with his manhood. His administrations causing Sansa’s head to swim blurredly.

Sansa felt her lust rising to the peak inside her, entangling her hands in his hair she felt the tremors of their lovemaking building up. “Tyrion” She cried loudly.

Her inner walls clamped down on him, Sansa letting out a long groan, her hands fisted in his hair whilst her body shook in her pleasure. Tyrion grunted, mixing the crude sound with her delicate moans. Sansa felt him spraying his seed deep inside her, her body milking his.

The strength that had kept her body halfway up resolved itself, making her collapse on the bed, with Tyrion’s small frame upon her, his softening member still inside her.

Breathing heavily, Sansa let go of his hair, her arms falling to her side, her legs splayed out on the bedsheet. She glimpsed down herself. Her husband lied with his head on her breast, as if they were his pillow, panting heavily. Sansa was content with letting him rest there, she enjoyed the rests of her peak cursing through her.

She made a whining sound when Tyrion rolled down off her, his member slipping out of her, letting her behind with a feeling of emptiness. He rested himself beside her, on his back, only moving up, so their heads were on the same level. Sansa turned her head to him, too exhausted to move her body.

She found his eyes glistering with what she only ever interpreted as love, his live for her. She felt how his hand came up to her, cupping her cheek, feeling the remains of her own wetness linger on him.

Sansa closed in, kissing him passionately.

“Gods” Tyrion exhaled breathlessly, once they had collapsed back limply.

“Yes” Sansa agreed giggling lightly, laying the flat of her hand on her hot forehead, not able to move properly. “What just happened?”

“You ask me?” Tyrion chuckled at her side. “You dragged me here. Not complaining though.”

Yes she had, a little feeling of embarrassment for what she had done trying to overcome her, but failed against the remains of her lust.

“You certainly enjoyed it” Sansa beamed, turning finally on her side to face her little husband, slowly dragging her hand over his chest playfully. “I could see that very well.”

“How couldn’t I” He replied, taking her hand in his, pulling her towards him. Sansa complied happily, lying her head on his chest, pulling her feet close to him, while he murmured mischievously: “You enjoyed yourself as well, didn’t you?”

“Maybe” Sansa hinted, closing her eyes, feeling safe in his embrace. She had enjoyed it, oh yes, she shouldn’t have, but she had had. It had had aroused her so much, she had had to fulfil her needs, needed to be with Tyrion.

Slowly, the exhaustion of the last hours crept back in her body, more than a day without rest, filled with turmoil demanding the price of her. She wanted nothing more than just sleep for the rest of the day, or maybe next as well. She felt how Tyrion stretched out overly ambitious, trying not to disturb her while pulling the blanked over them.

They had settled in nicely in their spacious bed, Sansa ready to drift into sleep, listening to Tyrion’s steady heartbeat when a thought popped into her mind.

“What is with Margaery?” She asked, forcing herself up against the will of her aching limps, and paining eyes, as much as Tyrion’s unwilling grunt to let her slip away. Once more she braced herself up against the headboard, keeping the blanked pulled to her chest, she glanced to her side, down at a visibly equally exhausted husband, slowly coming back to live. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know” Tyrion declared sleepy, rubbing his eyes. “Where we left her?”

“She can’t still be bend over the table?” Sansa asked unbelieving, a small glint of excitement shooting through her at the image of Margaery waiting over the table obediently. “Margaery?” Sansa called out hesitantly, realising Margaery had probably listened to them making love, causing her cheeks to flush pink with embarrassment, combined with something else she didn’t want to admit.

“Maybe you do it wrong?” Tyrion suggested when there was no response. Shrugging, smirking at her flushed cheeks, earning himself a little warning glare, he started with his fake authoritative voice: “Margaery! Come here!”

“I could have done that as well” Sansa scolded him playfully, an unwanted grin on her face.

“Of course” He agreed apologetic, grinning back. Sansa turned her eyes to the door, thinking she not only could have issued the command, but secretly wanted to as well. What _was_ wrong with her?

“Master, Mistress.” Margaery walked into the room after a short moment, her hands folded in front of her, her eyes downcast. Her nakedness made Sansa suddenly aware of her own, as well as Tyrion’s. Looking to her side she found him, the blanked only covering his lower body. A nasty flash of jealously made her shoot a glare at Margaery, finding her, however, with her eyes still on her feet. Sansa regretted her outburst momentarily. She contemplated with herself, that if they should get nightgowns, decided however against it, they had seen Margaery naked and vulnerable, so false reservation seemed hypocritical.

“We will go to sleep.” Sansa explained to the older girl, keeping her voice soft and friendly: “You must be tired as well. If you want, you can sleep in the bed, you will find a blanked and a pillow there” Sansa pointed to a trunk at the wall. The bed was large, she and Tyrion only occupied the upper half. Margaery wouldn’t disturb them, or be disturbed on the other half.

Margaery lowered her head deeper, without saying a word and went to the trunk. Sansa followed her naked form with her eyes, not able to rip herself from it. The silver shackles glinted in the early afternoon light. The moment Margaery bend down to fetch the blanked and pillow, she offered them a clear view of her pink arse. Sansa’s breath hitched, a weight of anticipation lowering itself in her chest.

She searched absently for Tyrion’s hand, grabbing it tight, without looking away from her handiwork on Margaery’s buttocks. Excitement returned to her.

Margaery turned her body, blanked and pillow now covering her nakedness. She glanced questioning to Sansa. She indicated Margaery to the end of the bed, observing her, settling down, finally covering herself completely. That made Sansa feel a pang of regret for that.

She resettled back to her husband’s side, they returned to their former position, Sansa slightly moaning, feeling his arm coming around her. In each other’s embrace they fell asleep, overwhelmed by exhaustion.

-##-

Sansa woke up stirring in the morning, to the feeling of Tyrion’s hand stroking through her silky hair. She made an unladylike growl, snuggling closer to him, not willing to open her eyes, while replaying the pleasant, and only the pleasant memories of the last day.

Finally opening her eyes, Sansa beheld Margaery’s sleeping form looking down Tyrion’s and her bodies. A weird mixture of emotions rummaging through her, creating a sigh.

“What are we supposed to do with her now?” Tyrion asked her, near whispering, stroking her head on his chest. Sansa didn’t turn, just thinking while observing the older woman.

“I don’t know” Sansa confessed, confused about her own wishes. “She can’t be our slave.” Sansa asked him, not turning her head, continuing: “Can she?”

“You want her to, don’t you?” Tyrion whispered cheekily, Sansa could practically hear his grin with a hint of hope in it. Scandalised she ripped her head from his chest, sitting half up beside him, looking down.

“And you?” She asked half accusing, “I have seen you. You want to…”

“… fuck her?” Tyrion finished her sentences with the obscene word, smirking knowingly at her: “Don’t play coy with me my love. I also have seen you. You want it too.” Sansa pouted her lips outraged, knowing he was right, but not able to accept it yet. “Seeing you, _disciplining_ her, was something I never thought would be so … erotic. I admit that.” Tyrion continued, taking her hand in his, she allowing him. “Something dark was touched in me. And I recognised also in you: a wanton desire we both seem to have.” Tyrion paused for a moment, looking her deep in the eyes, waiting for her to acknowledge his words. Sansa felt the truth, how she enjoyed it. How she enjoyed it together with him. After her nod he spoke again, assuring her: “I am not sure what is next, how we will indulge our newfound … let’s say interest. However, I will not dishonour you, my Lady. I am not Robert, nor some eastern slaver. I will not do anything with Margaery, you won’t allow.”

“So you can blame me?” Sansa asked, half joking, deep affection streaming through her body again. She gave him a smile, kissing his head. “What now then?” She asked, straightening up again.

“Maybe first we should ask if she still holds on to her decision.” Sansa’s husband gestured towards the sleeping form: “Maybe we have nauseated her enough to try running.”

“You think?” Sansa wasn’t able to contain her disappointment and anxiousness. Now, after coming to terms with what had seemed so ludicrous not a day ago, she felt a malicious desire. Yes, she realised, she wanted Margaery to be theirs, hers and Tyrion’s, they both together, being Master and Mistress.

“Mhm” Tyrion sounded, looking up at her, as if he knew exactly what she thought. “We can ask her?” A roguish smirk on his lips he whispered: “And maybe then, we can have her fulfil her first task?”

“You mean?” Sansa inquired, letting the rest of the question linger in the air, knowing exactly what he had meant.

“Oh yes” Tyrion’s grin widened, he tapped his finger on her nose “And we let her start with you.”

“Me?” Sansa shrieked shocked “But how would that…” She averted her eyes embarrassed, realising her ignorance in such matters “…how would that work?”

“I am sure she will have an idea” Tyrion kissed her hand, “I will be there to watch you, make sure she does it right. Trust me.”

Sansa nodded, hesitantly, feeling nervousness heating her skin. However, the wetness between her legs betrayed the spirit of her body.

“Margaery” Sansa called out softly, her hand gripping Tyrion’s harder in her nervousness, she wouldn’t let go of him.

Margaery was rousing up, lightly, slowly turning around, causing Sansa’s eyes to behold her delicate breasts, as soon as the blanked fell off her. Margaery looked disordered at Sansa and Tyrion, but for only a moment, maybe realising the last days hadn’t been a dream.

Margaery rose herself to her knees on the bed, afterwards, lowering her head again in her familiar timid pose. She looked rested, her chest heaving slightly with a steady breath. Sansa was surprised not to find evidence of sleepiness in her face. Had she been awake all the time, secretly listening to Tyrion and her?

“Have you reconsidered your decision?” Tyrion took the initiative first, asking her gently and considerate. “Don’t be afraid” Sansa watched Margaery strained, arousal heating her insides.

“No Master” Margaery replied submissive, causing Sansa’s inside to explode in a wave of exhilaration, a wide smile forming on her face. She tugged Tyrion’s hand hard, signalling him he should continue quickly.

“Is that so?” Tyrion stretched his question long, accompanied by a lewd tone, Sansa didn’t know from him. “Then, slave, it is time for you to do your duty. Begin with making your Mistress feel good.”

Margaery’s head shot up, her eyes widened, she starred, firsts at Tyrion, then at Sansa, her sweet mouth slightly opened. Sansa observed her, insecure, anxious what she would do next. Margaery smiled contented. She lowered her head again, moving on her hands and knees, seductively crawling towards Sansa.

Sansa felt how Tyrion used his free hand to pull the cover from their bodies, letting it fall to the ground, exposing boths’ nakedness to Margaery. Gulping, Sansa spread her legs undecidedly, allowing Margaery to crawl between them, raising to her knees in front of Sansa. She could feel her nervousness reaching unusual levels, looking right in Margaery’s hazel eyes, her thick and soft brown curls framing her face.

Margaery leaned into Sansa, bringing her lips close to hers. Swiftly Sansa, though, brought her finger between them, laying it on the older girl’s lips, hardening her gaze. She wouldn’t let Margaery kiss her on the lips, they weren’t lovers. The thought heightened her excitement further, a certain confidence strengthening Sansa resolve. Confident she slowly shook her head, smirking at Margaery.

The girl’s head lowered in affirmation, before proceeding down, her lips finding connection with Sansa’s neck, suckling at her flesh.

Shortly after a moan escaped Sansa’s lips, her hand tightened around Tyrion’s. Margaery was teasingly kissing her way down her body, her hands resting on Sansa’s wide open thighs. It felt so different, Margaery’s mouth closed around one of her nipples, making Sansa whimper in need.

Sansa buried her free hand in Margaery’s hair, urging her downwards between her legs, grasping how she would pleasure her. The girl complied without protest, only pausing to swirl her tongue around Sansa’s belly button.

Margaery came to a rest between her legs, tentatively guiding her tongue through Sansa’s moist lips. Another whimper escaped Sansa, it felt so good. Different from Tyrion, Margaery’s tongue felt different, the absence of beard stumble turning it in something different.

Margaery licked her folds boldly, with long clear darts. Sansa felt heat build-up in her. The mixture of pleasure with the height of power she felt over her dominion of Margaery, the thought of another woman serving her, driving her closer to her peak.

Margaery closed her lips over Sansa’s little nub, sucking at it with vigour. Sansa bit her fist, burying her head in Tyrion’s neck, moaning trembling, her eyes closed. The world became blurry around her, her grip of his hand tightened again, surely near causing blood.

Sansa opened her eyes again, finding her husband, lightly stroking his manhood, watching her, watching her being pleasured by Margaery - their slave.

This thought, combined with another expertly ministration from Margaery’s lips and tongue brought her over the edge in a shattering height.

-##-

Tyrion closed his eyes by the loud moan Sansa practically screamed in his ear, wincing by the pain her nails caused, digging into his hand, while simultaneously stroking his cock. He thought himself the luckiest fool alive, what he saw was too amazing to comprehend fully at all.

Sansa trembled in her release, burying her head deeper into his neck, riding her pleasure out on Margaery’s face. Tyrion observed her auburn curls rubbing in the girl’s face with a lecherous stare.

“Gods” Sansa moaned, heavily breathing. Not looking, she used her free hand to wave Margaery away from her folds. The girl sat up on her knees, Tyrion seeing with satisfaction the evidence of his wife’s arousal glistering on her face. It looked incredible.

Sansa rode out her peak, Tyrion watching her libidinous, his hand striking his cock faster. However he had enough sense to not fasten his strokes too much, hoping he would be at the receiving end of something better soon. The new dark side his wife and he had discovered enticing him, strengthening their bond.

“Oh gods” Sansa once more hailed the Seven, or the old Gods maybe, before finally finding her control back. Still quivering lightly she turned her head from his neck, letting her head rest on his shoulder, watching Margaery for a moment.

“Now your turn.” She murmured to him. Tyrion felt his already hard cock growing painfully harder in his hand. He turned his head, glancing at Sansa’s face. “Margaery. Ensure the same for him now.”

Now it was Tyrion’s turn to gulp, watching the Rose of Highgarden sliding over the covers between his legs, her cuffed hands wandering over his thighs. His breath shortened, watching her face hovering close to his cock, her eyes glancing up at him.

He let go of his manhood, gripping the bedsheet beside him, his other hand still in Sansa’s. He breathed heavily, waiting for the next part. He had never asked Sansa do that for him, never wanting to scare or disgust her. Witnessing her ordering Margaery to do this was so inconceivable.

Margaery gave his shaft a small, teasing kiss on the tip, provoking a groan out of Tyrion. It had been so long that he had such soft lips on his cock. Margaery proceeded to kiss his manhood down nibbling at the base. Her tongue slipped out of her mouth, twirling over his sensitive flesh before in one long lick she made her way back to the tip.

She continued to lick his cock up and down, not using her hands, but her lips, same as she had done for Sansa. Tyrion watched her, biting his lower lip, his face grimaced in lust, his excitement further heightened by Sansa’s hot breath at his side.

Margaery finally reached the tip of his cock again, enclosing it with her lips, forcing a whine out of him. She sucked at him, her twirling tongue sliding over his slit, procuring precum. Tyrion threw his head back the instance she slowly brought him deeper in her hot, wet mouth.

“Fuck” he exhaled, his head falling to his side, towards Sansa. He gazed in her deep blue eyes, filled with lust. She smiled at him, while Margaery bobbed her head up and down the first part of his shaft. Tyrion leaned in, catching her lips passionately. Sansa aggressively answering the kiss her free hand on his chest.

When they broke their connection Tyrion had nearly forgotten the lips on his cock, nearly. Sansa smirked at him, her eyes lowering to his crotch. Tyrion followed her gaze to Margaery’s curls. The girl moved up and down his manhood with the same enthusiasm she had shown Sansa, nonetheless, not taking more than half of him in her mouth. Tyrion didn’t care, her tongue at the underside of his cock making up for that.

His eyes widened noticing Sansa’s free hand suddenly resting on Margaery’s head, urging her further down on his cock. Tyrion could only gape. He felt the back of Margaery’s throat hitting the tip of his cock. Margaery gagged lightly, but Sansa wouldn’t stop, urging the girl to take more of him inside her - all of him

Tyrion was beyond the capability to stop her with reason, nor willing to do so. The sensation felt amazing, feeling his cock slipping in Margaery’s throat. Sansa moved Margaery faster up and down, fucking his cock with her mouth.

He tightened his hand in the bedsheet, groaning loudly. A powerful orgasm hit him, spilling his seed in the eager awaiting mouth. Tyrion threw his head back again, watching to half closed eyes how Margaery swallowed his seed without hesitation. Sansa let go of the girl, allowing her to look up. Tyrion’s limp cock plopped out of her mouth, her eyes little red but still a smile on her face. She cleaned Tyrion’s shaft with her tongue, making him quiver again before sitting back on her knees, head lowered again, the evidence of Sansa’s and his arousal now on her face.

“Gods” Tyrion groaned, closing his eyes. He was spend, exhausted, again. “I haven’t prayed so much in a long time.” He joked, enjoying Sansa’s giggle in his ears.

“Me neither” She kissed him on the cheek, snuggling closer to him she pulled her legs towards him. “What now?”

“We should reward her, shouldn’t we?” Tyrion suggested breathless, looking to Margaery who waited docile.

“What do you mean?” Sansa asked suspiciously, making him chuckle. He turned, cupping her cheek. “Trust me.” - She nodded. - “Margaery” he addressed their slave, yes she was now unmistakable theirs’. “I want you at the end of the bed facing us, on your knees, legs spread.”

While Margaery obeyed wordlessly, - by the gods, Tyrion had no idea what was going on in this one’s head, - he observed the curious, watchful eyes of his wife following her. Once in position Tyrion turned his attention back to Margaery:

“I want you to touch yourself” he ordered grinned salacious, “and give us a good show.”

Tyrion leaned his head against Sansa both watching Margaery attentive while she brought her hand between her glistering folds, her wetness already running down the inside of her legs. She didn’t protest, or hesitate, but began rubbing herself eagerly, using her other hand to knead her shapely breast. She moaned lustfully, bringing herself to a peak. Sansa and Tyrion watched until she collapsed backwards, moaning loudly.

Tyrion went closer to Sansa, both watching the panting slave silently, content.


	3. Experimentation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing

“Yes, something in green as well. Make sure the neck-collar is high enough and that sleeves and hem are long enough, so her bonds won’t show.” Sansa instructed Brella with the last specification for Margaery’s new wardrobe before dismissing her handmaid, reclining in her chair.

The day had progressed, to her surprise, rather normally, since Tyrion and her had, for the first time, made use of Margaery talented tongue that morning. They had eaten leisurely before Tyrion had been forced to retreat to his solar, fulfilling the duties as Master of Coins, he hated so much. Sansa meanwhile had been able to have a quick bath, having Brella take care of her hair and then dressing appropriately, Margaery had tend to herself.

Now her slave was standing before her, her slender but shapely figure covered by one of Sansa’s old gowns again. Margaery might have been older than Sansa, but not as tall. Letting the observation go through her head she mustered Margaery, taking a sip of her wine.

“You don’t look very happy with my wardrobe decisions for you.” Sansa noted, pondering her decision once again to have Margaery tailor rather conservative gowns, in contrast to her former wardrobe. “Speak up!”

“I would prefer something less … confining.” Margaery raised her head a little, avoiding Sansa’s eyes.

“I see” Sansa found the entire situation rather enjoyable, how uncomfortable Margaery was with the norms of westerosi fashion. She was however a little bit scared how fast she, and Tyrion as well, had apparently progressed into slavers so quickly. Yet, after the morning there was no way back, not that they wished it. Sansa smiled and Margaery, she said grandiloquent: “Nevertheless, luckily I am the one dressing you now” _Like a puppet. Who knew I would enjoy playing with one again._ “More important, I don’t want everybody to stare at your metal when we are outside” Sansa explained her property, feeling the rush of power in her again.

“Of course Mistress” Margaery replied, blinking gradually.

Sansa couldn’t make sense of Margaery. She had adored the older girl, when she had come to the city, had wanted to be her friend. That had been, of course, before she had shown her disregard for Sansa on her wedding day. Now, Margaery, intelligent and shroud Margaery, was a willing slave to her and her husband. She had shown her willingness, serving all desires of them. She didn’t even know, that Tyrion and Sansa had decided, or better Sansa had denied her permission yet, for her to be penetrated in her other orifices by Tyrion. Sansa wasn’t sure she wanted him to _enter_ her like this, he complied without complaining.

“Do you enjoy it?” Sansa asked, her curiosity taking the better of her. “Being our slave, I mean?” She mustered Margaery thorough, she was looking lost for an answer. “I know it arouses you, but is there more?” Sansa specified, her facial expression kept neutral. Her slave finally looked at her, hesitantly opening and closing her mouth. Sansa waited patiently, swirling her cup, pulling one of her legs over the other.

“I think so, Mistress” Margaery replied weakly, clearly unsure. “It is … different.”

“Aha” Sansa was tempted to ask what she meant with ‘different’, instead she commented playfully: “You know, you can also address me with ‘My Lady’. Just to get some variation. The monotony bores me.”

“Yes my Lady” Margaery responded immediately. Sansa could have sworn to see a small grin on the other’s face.

Disregarding that, Sansa thought about what to do next.

“Bring me my cloak and boots.” Sansa ordered resolute. “And find yourself something similar. I will go to the Godswood. And you will accompany me” _And Pod._ Sansa added in her mind, not unaware of Tyrion letting his squire behind for protection, trusting him more than Ser Bronn.

Margaery hurried to follow her orders, disappearing in the bedchamber, letting Sansa alone. She used the time to muse in her mind. She hadn’t visited the Godswood in some days now, too occupied with her daily life. However she felt an urge to pray to the old Gods, about what had happened, assuming the Seven wouldn’t have brought Margaery to them, but rather the old Gods, for some reason.

Margaery returned swiftly, one of Sansa’s old cloaks around her shoulders, not hiding her collar as well as Sansa would have liked, a pair of old boots on her feet and Sansa’s best leather boots in her hands, together with her cloak.

Unasked Margaery knelt in front of Sansa, beginning to remove her shoes from her feet. The cloak she was wearing part, giving Sansa a good look on her cleavage. Wordlessly Sansa allowed Margaery to remove her shoes and put her boots on, enjoying the view.

A sudden devilish idea appeared in her mind, watching Margaery on her knees before her. Sansa’s hands and chest filled with tension.

“Would you kiss them?” She asked curiously, wiggling her booted foot in front of Margaery’s face, observing her thoroughly. She had no idea from where the idea came, but it made her fussy.

The excitement grew in Sansa as soon as she observed how Margaery brought her lips down on the tip of her boot, lingering with her pink lips on the light leather. Sansa’s inside tingled, her face gracing a wide grin.

“Now lick.” She ordered huskily, a wolfish expression on her face, her eyes darkening with delight.

Margaery said no word of protest. Darting her tiny tongue out, she licked up and down Sansa’s boot. She went on methodically, from the tip up to the beginning of the shaft, back down to the tip, paying special attention to the tongue of the boot. Sansa watched how she then worked her way up the shaft of her boot towards the rim, nuzzling at the junction between leather and Sansa’s skin before guiding her tongue back down.

Sansa felt herself moisten by the sight, the feeling of power heightening her arousal. She would have to stop soon, before she couldn’t control herself anymore.

“Now the other one” She commanded, removing one foot from Margaery’s face, procuring a astonishing, small whimper from her before reaching out with the other boot. She had decided to make it an exercise of self-control, - for herself. Sansa knew she couldn’t have Margaery pleasure her physical whenever she felt the need, without losing the control over the situation eventually. So she let her slave give her boot the same attention than the other, watching with growing lust.

When she couldn’t watch anymore, feeling how she was losing control, Sansa ripped her boot out of Margaery’s grasp, raising from her chair. She took her cloak and pulled it over her shoulders, walking towards the door. Sansa turned back to Margaery, still kneeling on the floor:

“Come, slave.”

-##-

Sansa returned to the chambers in the late afternoon, Margaery trailing behind her. Several hours she had spent praying. First she had gone to the Godswood. Bathed in the autumn sun Sansa had prayed to the gods of her father, fulfilling her need to thank them for the weird turn her life had taken. She prayed the path, she was on, would not guide her into another horrible faith. While she had prayed, Margaery had silently knelt behind her in the grass, not moving.

Afterwards Sansa had decided to also pay the Seven her respect, fearing she could displease them. Once again her slave had followed her obediently, the stains of the Godswood’s grass visible on her gown. Sansa had noticed how the people of the court had starred, passing them, chuckling behind her back.

_They think Tyrion makes me walk his concubine_ Sansa had realised soon. She had chuckled silently by the thought. But how should all of them know what was really going on in Tyrion’s and her bed. They wouldn’t chuckle then, Sansa was certain, but dying of envy, all of them.

They had crossed path with a few Tyrell lieges near the castle Sept, however, Margaery hadn’t left Sansa’s side or tried to hide. Without hesitation she had passed them. Sansa found her behaviour still fascinating, how she had been able to transform so seamlessly into her new state of existence, as if she had never been someone else. Sansa had vowed to get to the bottom of the enigma Margaery presented – but not soon. For now Sansa wanted to know how far she could go with her doll.

In the Sept Sansa had quickly lightened candles at the respective altars, making her prayer to the Mother. This time Margaery had stood behind her, not kneeling, but waiting in a shadowy corner of the Sept. Sansa hadn’t minded, she had been aware of the nasty glances the Septon and the Septas had shoot her.

Now, finally back in her chambers, Sansa glided down on one of the cushioned armchairs near the enlightened fireplace. Sighing gratified she took a cup of the table between the chairs, filling it with wine. Holding the cold golden cup at her lips she observed Margaery over the rim, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Change my shoes” Sansa ordered, training her tone to be as authoritative as her little husband’s, before she took a sip of her wine. Her eyes monitored Margaery’s movements through the room. The older girl brought Sansa’s house shoes and knelt down at her feet, carefully removing the boots from her feet, replacing them with the house shoes. This time Sansa didn’t order her to lick the shoes, instead a host of wicked ideas marched in her head.

“Must be Tyrion’s influence” She muttered to herself, hiding her smirk with anther sip of wine. She wanted to play a bit with her doll, testing the limits of the woman.

With her free hand she gestured Margaery to stand up. Sansa leaned back in her chair, letting the cup in her other hand swirl slowly, crossing her legs. Sansa’s Tully-blue eyes beheld Margaery for a while, like a Shewolf stalking her prey. The girl was very beautiful, her body slender yet shapely, combined with unblemished skin and very pretty lightly curled brown hair, fitting her eyes.

“Strip!” Sansa commanded slowly, observing Margaery’s reaction closely. Her slave followed her order without hesitation, her facial expression not changing, remaining a neutral, not pained mystery for Sansa.

After the boots were removed from her feet and she had stepped out of the gown pooling around her feet, Sansa mustered Margaery thorough for a second time. Her skin was indeed, unblemished. Sansa regarded her up and down, finding particular liking in Margaery’s shackles. What she had regarded as atrocious not two complete days before, now found Sansa’s appreciation. Margaery looked good in her bounds.

Sansa took another sip of her wine, whereas her curiosity was further seduced by the space between Margaery’s legs.

Sansa gestured her slave to come closer with her free hand. Margaery obediently followed the unspoken command by stepping a pace closer. Sansa, however, wasn’t satisfied and urged her closer again. This time Margaery hesitated, if only for a moment, before stepping closer. For Sansa she was still out of reach, so she pointed at the space before the armrest of her free hand, observing her property sharply.

Margaery hesitated again, again only for a moment, spiking Sansa’s interest, before she finally stepped on her assigned place, bringing her crotch on level with Sansa’s eyes for a closer inspection.

Sansa beheld her folds critically: The skin around her womanhood, as well as her legs were free of any sight of hair. She knew, out of her own experience, that shouldn’t be. She glanced up quizzically in the older girl’s lightly blushed face, before fixing the object of her interest again. Tentatively Sansa reached out with her free hand, slowly grazing her fingertips over the smooth skin around Margaery’s entrance.

“What is the meaning of this?” Sansa asked dreamily, letting her fingers wander over the velvet skin, fascinated by the oddity.

“A custom of Lys my Lady.” Margaery answered timid, Sansa detected a light tremor when her fingers went close to the girl’s folds.

“Mhm” Sansa murmured, silently demanding the girl to elaborate with a glance, before returning to her explorations.

“All the body’s hair is removed. Except for the one on the head.” Margaery explained, her breath coming shorter. “It is done with hot wax, to rip the hair out of the body, to make the skin smooth.”

“Indeed” Sansa commented absently, moving her hand to push Margaery’s arm away casually so she could look upwards to her armpit, finding it hairless. She then returned to let her fingers wander over the woman’s thighs, gliding over the skin as if over silk. “It must be painful” She observed, gazing in Margaery’s face, hardening her voice: “You did that for Joffrey?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Margaery’s voice trembled, she averted her eyes out of Sansa’s reach, her arms twitching nervously.

“I like it.” Sansa remarked encouraging, changing her tone deliberately. “You will continue doing so. Ensure there won’t be stubbles.”

“Yes my Lady.” Margaery sounded relieved, her body relaxed under Sansa’s fingertips. Sansa however brought her hands back up to Margaery’s folds, making it a habit to scratch the sensitive flesh during the circles her fingers wandered.

Sansa observed how her slave’s walls started to glister with moisture, hearing amused how her ministrations yielding a whimper out of Margaery. Sansa slightly dipped her fingertips in the hot, wet hole, making Margaery moan wantonly.

Feeling cruel however, Sansa retreated from her victim, leaning back in her chair, taking a sip of wine, observing Margaery quivering. The sight aroused Sansa, filling her again with an unholy desire and feeling of power. The rush reached a new high when her eyes fell on a certain item on a nearby table, bringing forth a wicked idea.

“Go to the table” Sansa ordered, much more maliciously than she had thought herself capable of, her belly tingling anticipating. She thought her idea could be fun.

Margaery glanced over her shoulder to the table Sansa had pointed at. Confused she looked back at Sansa quizzically. Sansa shot her a warning glare, fully aware that she wouldn’t be able to do anything, if Margaery would refuse. Sansa knew the only threat she hold over the girl was to tell Tyrion. She alone was not able to overpower Margaery with certainty.

Luckily there was no need to test any of that. A moment later Margaery obeyed freely, walking over to the table and turned to look at Sansa. Taking her time, Sansa placed her cup on the table besides her, raising out of the chair unhurried. She walked over to her slave, a sweet smile on her face when gesturing the girl to turn around. – Margaery submitted.

Sansa came up behind Margaery, laying her right hand between her shoulders, not pressing down. She used her foot to push the naked feet of her girl apart, exposing the vulnerable parts. Margaery responded by pushing her rear out, offering Sansa easy access.

However, Sansa had something different in mind. She reached out with her other hand, wrapping her fingers around a thin white candle on the table. She took it out of the chandelier making sure Margaery would see the item of wickedness. The slave’s breath hitched slightly. She turned her head, starring at Sansa wide eyed.

Sansa smiled at her, indicating her to turn her head back. She detected a hint of fear in Margaery’s eyes, but when she turned her head away without further protest Sansa proceeded, slowly guiding the candle between the smooth legs. She let the stick rest under Margaery’s folds, before pushing it up lightly between her lower lips. She was careful, not applying to much pressure in fear the candle could break. Sansa let the candle slide over her slave’s walls for a few time, making Margaery moan lasciviously. The scenario caused her own smallclothes to dampen with arousal and she was considering to end what she was doing to bring Margaery’s mouth to work on her instead.

Sansa decided differently, her curiosity of how the situation would unfold bigger than her current needs.

Grinning widely Sansa finally realigned the candle stick, invading Margaery with the thicker end first. The girl cried out huskily, her hands grabbing the table. Sansa ignored her, moving the candle inside her. Margaery moaned loudly, her upper body slowly bending over the table.

“Oh, no” Sansa exclaimed sharp, her right hand gripping the girl’s collar. It was a tight fit, but Sansa pushed her fingers between Margaery’s throat and the silver metal, yanking her back in an upright position. She brought Margaery’s head close to hers, hearing the girl gasp for air.

However, after making sure she hadn’t cut off the woman’s air supply fully, Sansa sped up her other hand. The candle stick moving in and out the gasping slave, Sansa holding on to the collar tightly.

-##-

Tyrion felt a certain anticipation, making his way back to his chambers. He hadn’t really been able to concentrate on his work today. Not that he had ever much enjoyed his tasks as Master of Coins. He found the juggling of numbers, trying to make sense out of Littlefinger’s accounts rather dull. For Tyrion the work felt demeaning, he had been Hand of the King, and now, he was a glorified scribe.

However, the natural associated dullness of his appointment hadn’t been the reason for Tyrion’s difficulties today. It rather had been his cock. – Or better his wicked mind, replaying the events of the last days, making his cock painfully hard.

The developments, shady as they were, enticed Tyrion. He was surely the luckiest dwarf in the world right now. Not only had he a beautiful, intelligent wife, who, against every odd, the Gods had given them, had formed a bond with him. He now felt a real chance for happiness and normality for the first time.

No. – He also unexpectedly had an oddly willing pleasure slave, - ignoring the situation with his nephew of course – And to top it all he hadn’t even a need to hide her from his wife, no, his wife took part, relished, the situation.

Tyrion still wasn’t sure if he was dreaming a very strange, long dream. But no, he would have never even dared to dream watching little, chaste Sansa Stark getting pleasured by a collared Margaery Tyrell. – The Gods had certainly humour.

Tyrion sped up his pace, his mind wandering towards his wife, waiting in their chambers for him, perhaps entertaining herself with Margaery. He couldn’t exclude the possibility, he realised with a grin. She had no idea he had ended his work so much earlier today than usual. He hoped he could catch her, confirming that she hadn’t just played along the previous days. He was fairly certain she had had not, but an Imp should always be suspicious of his luck, he had learned that the hard way.

In close proximity to the chamber door, Tyrion dismissed Pod, who stood guard at the door, with a gesture of his hand. He followed the boy with a short glance over his shoulder. Tyrion feared Pod could lose something, if he saw dear Margaery in a compromising position. His cock could grow and poke one of his always downcast eyes out. Tyrion owed it to the boy not to let that happen.

Alone, Tyrion didn’t open the door immediately, but laid an ear on the door, listening attentively. He could hear slight moans and gasps from the other side of the door, a lecherous grin forming on his face. Feeling a bit like a boy waiting to go into a whorehouse for the first time, Tyrion pushed the door open, strolling inside like on any other day. – He froze where he stood by the sight offered to him, the sound, of the door falling shut, behind him, mixed with the gasps and moans.

Tyrion beheld Sansa, standing behind Margaery’s naked form. The slave was pressed at a table, legs spread, her back arched. Tyrion observed how one of Sansa’s hands moved between Margaery’s legs, while the other held on tightly to the older girl’s collar. Margaery’s face was purple, she was gasping for air between moans. Tyrion looked up to Sansa, her face framed by her auburn hair, he saw a grin under her glinting eyes. Her facial expression made his heart leap, she looked stunning. Tyrion felt his breeches tighten again.

“Oh, Tyrion” Sansa noticed him surprised, she let go of Margaery, her hands moving to her side turning to him. “You are early.” Margaery collapsed on the table, panting heavily. Sansa smiled at him, making Tyrion ignore the other girl further. However his curiosity got the better of him and his eyes glanced to their slave. He took a sharp breath, finding a white candle stick locked inside the other girl, sticking out of her folds where Sansa had let it.

“I couldn’t wait to see you again” Tyrion flattered his wife, finding his composure back. He walked over to Sansa, his eyes ripped from the candle back to his wife. He took one of her hands, kissing it gently. Grinning upwards he asked playfully: “And what are you doing?”

“I am playing with Margaery” Sansa replied innocently, however Tyrion detected a slight blush on her cheeks. To his eternal happiness Sansa lowered herself to his level, kissing him gently, locking her eyes with his. She then asked uncertain: “Are you angry?”

“Why would I?” He replied, fearing his grin would now be permanent, his lust heating him up. “Please, don’t feel disturbed by me.”

Tyrion stepped back, giving his wife enough space. He couldn’t wipe away his grin, watching her returning behind Margaery. She took her by the collar again, this time Tyrion noticed only using three fingers. However, Tyrion could still see their slave gasping for air again when Sansa pulled her upright, continuing to use her other hand to move the candlestick.

Tyrion watched open mouthed, fascinated by the spectacle. Sansa took complete control over Margaery. The appealing sight crippled Tyrion’s ability to think. What he saw, combined with the moans and desperate gasps, united with the scent of Margaery’s arousal filling the room, overloaded his senses. He couldn’t even call attention to that he feared Sansa could choke Margaery to death. But what did he truly care? – If it made Sansa happy.

It didn’t take long for Margaery’s body to spasm under what seemed to be a powerful orgasm. Tyrion watched closely, how his smirking wife pulled the trembling girl’s head close to hers, whispering something in her ear, all that while she cried out loudly.

Afterwards Sansa let go of Margaery, letting her collapse on the table again. Tyrion could clearly see the exhaustion in the girl’s, once again purple, face, her eyes closing slowly, small tears flowing down her cheeks. He continued to watch Sansa removing a glistering candle stick from the slave’s body, mustering it in her hand before tossing it on the table next to Margaery.

Finally Sansa’s attention fell back to Tyrion, her eyes finding his. He could see how amused she was, she was visibly glowing vivid. Tyrion chuckled, turning to get them some wine from the table between the armchairs. He filled two cups, holding one out for Sansa, watching her coming to him gracefully. She thanked him wordlessly for the cup, letting herself glide in her armchair.

Tyrion climbed in the chair besides her, toasting her with his cup before taking a huge gulp. He sighed at the sight of their slave, so collapsed over the table she appeared sleeping.

“That was fun” Sansa commented absently, a quick glance to his side told Tyrion she was also observing their victim.

“You nearly strangled her to death” Tyrion chuckled, taking another gulp, resting his head back.

“No I did not” Sansa exclaimed, slapping him lightly on the arm, fixing him with a glare. “I was careful.”

“Your expertise surprises me my Lady” Tyrion teased her a bit, grinning up at her face. “Where did you learn not to choke a woman to death?”

“Pfff” Sansa blew out a breath, not answering him, but taking a sip of her cup, averting her eyes back to Margaery.

“What did you whisper in her ear?” Tyrion asked curios, forgoing his former question. _She most likely choked my sweet sister in her dreams_.

“Nothing” Sansa avoided his question, blushing again. Tyrion found great liking in the situation. He thought about pressing the question further, however thought different of it. He had no wish to sleep on the armchair tonight if he made her angry.

“Did you do other fun things today too?” Tyrion interrogated her cheekily, wanting to know more of her activities and simultaneously relinquished his earlier question.

“Oh yes” Sansa answered ominous not elaborating further. “But I must say I just try out what comes in my mind”

“A much filthier one than I thought” He chuckled again, this time taking her hand, letting his fingers wander over her bones. “Not that I am complaining”

“You have a bad influence on me. That is all” Sansa responded, her fingers entangling with his. “What do you want to do with her now?”

“I have very usual thoughts my love” Tyrion looked up to her for a sign of disapproval. “However, I can come up with a few depraved ideas as well. But for now, maybe we should let her rest. For the rest of the day at least.”

“Yes” Sansa put her cup aside turning in her chair to face him completely. “I have the feeling we are doing it wrong.”

“You mean we wouldn’t try to tame a wild horse by ourselves, no matter how mild it is?” Tyrion turned to her as well, smiling. “We would take counsel from a professional.”

“Something like that.” Sansa averted her eyes. “What if we ruin it?”

“So perhaps we should enlist the help of a professional?” Tyrion suggested. “A slaver from the Free Cities. I am sure we will find one under the merchants, even without slaves. Someone like that could provide us with some advice – and maybe even equipment.”

“Sounds good” Sansa laid her head on his shoulder, both of them watching their property sleep.

“I will have Bronn search one tomorrow”


	4. Goods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing

Sansa let her eyes stroll pryingly over the goods displayed on the table, their shapes set apart from an expansive violet table cloth. The variety of different objects, each done with such artistic decorations, all ornamented elaborately, took away her breath. Never had she imagined such devises would ever have a need for such decadence.

She had her hand rest on Tyrion’s shoulder, her husband standing beside her in their chambers, the merchant from Lys eying them with a confident smile, surely expecting to make a rather impressive profit off them. Sansa glanced up to the man, he was, she had to admit, handsome, even for his advanced age. Silver hair, paired with pale blue eyes showing in his pale face.

She had read of Lys, Lys the Lovely, where the valyrian blood ran strong and the slavers worshipped the Weeping Lady. For her it always was a faraway exotic place, the place all luxuries seemed to come from. Tyrion had even told her more about it, in the evenings when they were sitting in their armchairs in front of the fire, when he entertained her with his stories, infecting her with the longing for foreign places he kept in his heart.

He had been surprisingly quick, finding a merchant suitable for their needs, just a day and he had brought him to her. Sansa was glad about it, she feared she had overstressed with Margaery, nearly choking her. She had lost control, and Tyrion hadn’t been much of a help either, not even trying to stop her. Consequently Sansa had let Margaery rest yesterday, wanting her to have a break. Nonetheless she feared her doll would decide she had made a mistake, now that she had rest. – Sansa would have to see. For this morning Sansa had sent her away with Brella to fit the new gowns and attend herself. Not to mention Sansa didn’t want the slaver to google at her.

Tyrion and she had already decided to take a different approach than hiring the man to advise them, learning that he could offer them some books from Lys to instruct them, they believed it would suffice. Sansa was much more comfortable with such a solution, as well as Tyrion - so she believed. The thought that someone else touched what was theirs nauseated her in a weird form of jealously.

The books already piled on the nearby table in the morning light. It was beyond Sansa why so many of them were needed in order to learn about slavery, but Tyrion had been right to say: better safe than sorry.

Sansa focused her attention back on the merchants display, going back to the beginning of the table. She stepped closer, letting her fingers ghost over numerous kinds of leashes. She found particular liking in the filigree ones, thin chains made out of valuable metals, the handles out of fine leather, cushioned with silk. In contrast to the heavy chains displayed besides them it was easy for her to decide.

“Ah, I see milady has a fine eye.” The merchant flattered her with his overbearing confidence, smiling widely at her, while his soft voice sounded in her ear. “But what else is to expect by such a lovely female. Milord is a very lucky man.”

“And a jealous one.” Tyrion commented hostile, catching Sansa’s attention. He had laid one of his hands on hers on his shoulder, sneering up to the merchant coldly. Sansa followed his stare, a small chuckle escaping her seeing how quickly her husband comments taken aback the merchant.

“Larros would never presume different.” The Lyseni found his composure back quickly, nonetheless he shot a nervous glance over his shoulder to Ser Bronn, who was leaning back at the wall leisurely, polishing his dagger. Sansa wasn’t really sure she complete agreed with her husbands ‘negotiation tactics’, but at least they amused her. Turning back to the items on display she listened to the merchant again: “May I direct milady’s attention to the golden chain? A truly brilliant piece, worth to be used only by the highest.” Sansa followed the opened, neatly cleaned hand of the man to the golden leash, the links of the chain where made as little snakes, devouring their neighbours tails in an unending line.

“I am not sure” Sansa let her fingers wander over the leash, shooting Tyrion a questioned gaze. “What do you think?”

“I am for procuring an item like this.” He assured her, not very helpful. He stepped closer to her, their sides touching. “But I must admit you are the one of use capable of making a decision concerning finer things and their beauty. For all I care a leather strap is adequate.”

“Oh no milord!” the merchant nearly jumped them, his eyes widened. “Milady, a woman of your stand should not take less than she deserves.”

“You hear him?” Sansa smiled down at Tyrion provocatively, “I should not take less than I deserve.” She tightened her grip on his shoulder playfully, enjoying her tease.

“Yes, yes. And if milady wishes, I will have a chain made just for her. In short time” Larros of Lys focused all his attention on Sansa, understanding who he had to convince. “Maybe milady wishes other animals as chains, or flowers. Roses with red rubies, perhaps, showing on the chain.”

“Maybe…” Sansa pensively starred on the table, beforehand looking up finding the merchant nearly drooling by the prospect of her order. She smiled sweetly: “I would prefer one in silver, but with roses as links, and green gems.”

“As milady wishes” Larros’s eyes sparkling, he bowed deeply before turning around to note her order.

“You want to ruin me, do you?” Tyrion whispered, not accusing, more entertained.

“I assume you will find a way to make your father pay for all of this.” Sansa turned to him, smiling innocently. “Everything here is _necessary_.”

“What a cunning wife I have.”

“May I direct milady’s attention to these pieces now? No one has a higher quality of whips, paddles and rods you could imagine.” The merchant boomed proudly, guiding their attention to the next section on the table.

“One might wonder why, bearing in mind slavery is illegal and punishable by death in the seven Kingdoms.” Tyrion beamed wittingly up to the merchant, whose face paled slightly.

“A good merchant is always prepared” Larros of Lys replied evading, focusing his attention back to Sansa, smiling his teeth barring smile again.

Sansa had followed the short exchange only partly, her attention directed at the items on the table. Devises of torture, some smaller, some larger; whips, wooden paddles, and rods splayed out before her. The whips showed a large variety, some with multiple lashes, the grips made out of fine wood or bones, the leather lashes colourful and ornamented. The paddles weren’t less expansive, yet carved with geometric musters and inlaid with gems.

“Put them away” Sansa ordered the merchant harshly, disgusted by what she saw.

“Milady, I assure you, you see the finest choice for disciplining a slave, and a slave always need proper disciplining.”

“Put them away” Sansa hardened her voice, her wish unmistakable, spatting revolted: “Remove them from my sight!”

Grudgingly the merchant obeyed, covering his goods with a large cloth. Sansa sighed audibly, glancing to her side to Tyrion, enjoying his supporting smile as he took her hand.

They had decided in advance they weren’t in need for torture devices. What they did with Margaery was not about inflicting pain, neither of them had a liking for it. Sansa wasn’t entirely sure what her Lord-Husband gained out of what they did, she however assumed, the same she did. For Sansa she enjoyed the power Margaery gave them so freely over herself. This dominance was what excited her, not a cruel desire for inflicting pain. Neither Tyrion, nor her, were Joffrey. The pain they inflicted on Margaery, the little they had done and would probably do, would not be for the sake of pain, so they saw no need for such tools. They only nauseated Sansa. Not to mention, she wouldn’t risk her doll, who would damage a toy?

“This one too” Tyrion ordered the merchant, ripping Sansa out of her thoughts. Curiously Sansa searched for what he meant, finding an iron stick she could not really place in a context.

“What is it?” She whispered to Tyrion, ignoring Larros of Lys in his rearranging of the table.

“A branding iron” Tyrion explained to her, his voice betraying his own scorn, “Or do you want your name burned in her ass cheeks?”

“Gods no” Sansa was shocked, the though sickened her, she nearly vomited a bit in her mouth, before shaking the disturbing image off. Wiser she turned her attention back to the slaver with new found abhorrence.

“I am sure I can interest milady in this” He seemingly didn’t notice Sansa’s disapproving gaze. He procured a large chest made out of dark wood with golden fittings. The silver haired man opened it theatrically revealing a red cushioned inside, containing ropes of different colours shining in the light and two separate smaller chests together with a long one.

Sansa approached his offering cautiously, inspecting the inside with interest. She reached out, touching the ropes. The material of the different strands were silk like, but not silk, smooth and somewhat comforting, traits Sansa didn’t naturally connected with ropes. The ropes sparked her interest, her mind producing images of the material winding through the rings on Margaery’s bounds.

“A special blend of material, milady.” Larros of Lys was talking again, his voice slithering in her ear, Sansa paid him only half attention. “They will not burn the skin, while constricting. And they come with these.” The man reached in the chest taking out two articles and holding them in front of Sansa’s face.

She mustered them. One was a black silken band of cloth, the other was far more foreign to her. It was a ball, less than the size of her fist, seemingly out of leather, with a glittering surface like waxed, and with a band on each side.

“A blindfold and a gag milady” The merchant explained, Sansa could hear he tried not to sound condescending by her unknowing expression. “I am certain milady will find these pieces entertaining.” He laid the heavily ornate gag in Sansa’s open hand, smiling confident at her.

Sansa weighted the object in her palm, feeling the material on her skin. It felt smooth. She squished the ball, encountering hard resistance, the material only willing to give in slightly. She narrowed her eyes, turning the gag in her hand, imagined how to use it on Margaery. She had to admit the merchant had been right, she would certainly find it entertaining: Margaery bound and gagged, a blindfold taking away her sight. She would be totally in Sansa’s power, without any chance of a say.

“Continue.” Sansa stated plainly, returning the gag to the merchant, playing uninterested. She glanced at her side, caching amusement in her husband’s mismatched eyes. Returning her attention back to the Lyseni she found him opening one of the two smaller, severely decorated chests.

The inside was once again stuffed with expansive cloth, like he would present diamonds in it. On blue cushions laid bronze objects, polished to shine near golden. Sansa took one of them, not waiting for an explanation. The metal was cold in her fingers, it was a clamp, however, small and cushioned between the tongues. Sansa had a good idea for what they were made – not as interesting as the gag but maybe they could be of use. Without a word she put the piece back, waving her hand so the silver haired man would continue without bothering her with a description.

The next chest however held something quite different, something Sansa had never seen before. On dark blue satin laid a row of several conic shaped object of different sizes, varying from not being thicker than her little finger to the size of her fist. The merchandise was outwardly made out of ivory, geometric forms once again carved into the expensive material. The conic shape expanded until it ended in a narrower bridge to a flat disc, like a cone on a mounting. Sansa mustered the objects confused, not the slightest idea what they were for.

“Milady has never seen?” The merchant asked patronising, not able to draw Sansa’s attention away from his commodities. What were they? “Maybe milord?”

“I must say, I never did.” Tyrion joined Sansa closer to the table, his hand creeping up her arm. He sounded huskily. “I perhaps have a suspicion.”

“What are they for?” Sansa’s curiosity took the better of her, the strange objects intrigued her. She gazed upwards towards Larros of Lys, her eyes shining like a child’s that found something new.

“These rare, and exclusive pieces of art – milady – are for preparing your slave’s body for the most profound art of submission.” The slaver explained, his words interwoven in fogs of speech. He waved his arms controlled, somehow knowing exactly how to entice Sansa’s curiosity further. She glanced at her side, hoping for a quick explanation from Tyrion, but finding him just starring at the objects. The slaver made a big show of how he was to conclude his speech, drawing Sansa’s eyes back: “The act of a man taking a woman as he might take a boy, the ultimate submission.”

Sansa’s mind needed a long moment to process what she had just heard. Her lips formed silent words, her face rigour, some of her blood drowning out of her skin while simultaneously more blood shot in her ears and cheeks. The realisation what the man had said slowly dawning in her mind, her brain slowly constructing images of the act described.

“What?” Sansa found back her voice appalled, her eye staring blankly on the objects in front of her.

“It is very easy milady.” The merchant explained, seemingly unaffected by her state. “Beginning with the smallest object, you may insert them with warm oil. It will be uncomfortable for the slave, but it will loosen her body, allowing easier access later on as well as lessen the discomfort.” He took one of the objects – the on in the middle and held it up: “Furthermore this one can be inserted permanently to emphasise the slave’s place. The book explains the act in even more detail…”

“Stop!” Sansa interrupted the man, her face burning with uncomfortable shame. She waved her hand fanatically, wanting the Lyseni to turn around so he wouldn’t see, before she turned to Tyrion, her body sill not over the initial shock.

Her little husband hadn’t moved from his place, apparently observing her and her reaction thoroughly with great interest in his eyes. He looked up to her with his eyebrows raised questioningly, a light smile stretching the skin around his missing nose.

“Did you?” Was all Sansa could press out dumfounded, her face still burning red like her hair. The described act filling her uncomfortably with a mixture of mortification and disgust – and something else. She hadn’t imagined such an act possible. Again, it bitterly visualised how little she actually knew about the depravities people could engage in together. How little she had discovered during the last weeks with Tyrion, even with Margaery at her disposal. Nonetheless the image of her with one of these objects between her round cheeks forced itself on her mind.

“No!” Tyrion denied it, way too quickly, way too defensive for Sansa not to read the answer as it was. He took a step back, startled by her sudden glare.

“Are you lying?” She interrogated him, she wasn’t mean or judging, her tone was more playful, teasing. Sansa didn’t know why the question had come into her mind in the first place. She had felt a certain interest, wanting to cope with the new found realisation the revelation opened for her.

“Maybe…” Tyrion looked sheepishly, gazing up to her apologetic.

“That is disgusting” Sansa cried out, starring at him with wide eyes, her upbringing shortly taking control over her. However, the image of Margaery forced itself back in her mind. Sansa seeing herself ghosting over one of the object buried between her cheeks. She gulped, pressing her thighs together against the coming dampness.

“Really” A wicked grin suddenly formed on Tyrion’s face. He stepped closer to her, as if he had sensed her unwanted arousal, one of his hands moving to the back of her thigh right under her buttocks. “Shall I sneak under your gown and check? My dear? I bet the thought of shoving one of these little toys inside your toy excites you more than you show.”

“Show us the other chest.” Sansa slapped away Tyrion’s hand from her thigh, taking it in hers afterwards, before she addressed the merchant, avoiding Tyrion and his disclosures. He had once again been so right about her. She forced herself to find her composure back, halfway noticing how Larros of Lys turned back to face them and got to work on the last chest while she whispered to her husband: “You have a bad influence on me.”

“Don’t give me all the credit. I will only take some” He chuckled, making her turn her attention back to the merchandise awkwardly.

When the Lyseni opened the last, and largest chest Sansa ignored the snicker that came from her side while she inspected the ivory objects inside the rich decorated box. Once again she found carved ivory pieces, narrower, but most longer. It wasn’t hard for Sansa to figure out that what she saw were simply more expansive replacements for the candle she had used on Margaery. Nevertheless she liked what she saw, knowing that she wouldn’t have to be careful to break them easily. One object though was different from the rest, so much that Sansa boldly took it out, inspecting it in her hand.

Once again it was shaped like a manhood, but far more detailed, even the veins were carved in the bone. But in different to the others the larger object was attached to a leather harness.

“What is this?” Sansa looked up to Larros holding the object in both her hands.

“I believe milady will like this.” The merchant assured her beaming. “This one might be worn by milady to take her slave like a man would.” Sansa suddenly blushed furiously again, her eyes locked on the body in her hands, its purpose entirely clear to her, as much as her heightening excitement for it. She moved her hand over the smooth bone, thinking about its use. She only half listened to the merchant: “Impressive size, right milady?”

“I think it is rather small” Sansa looked up confused, a doubting look in her eyes, finding the merchant starring dumfounded. Even more confused she looked down at her husband finding him with a wide proud grin on his face.

Confused she turned her attention back to the objects. She had assumed it was so small because a woman was to wear it. Then she realised she had only ever seen Tyrion naked, not another man. She had always assumed her husband’s shaft would have dimensions proportional to his size, thanking the gods, fearing an average sized man would surely rip a woman apart. Never had it occurred to her that his head wasn’t the only thing on him out of proportion.

“We will take all.”

-##-

Tyrion calculated the prize for everything his sweet wife had just bought in his head right after the annoying merchant, Bronn had found so suspiciously quickly, left, before joining Sansa sitting in front of the fireplace.

He smiled up to her warmly once he had tried to climb as gracefully as possible on his chair, leaning back with a loud sigh. He enjoyed the moment of peace, finally being alone with his wife for a change. They hadn’t been truly alone for days. His legs hurt from the prolonged standing in front of the table as well as his neck from the craning upwards. But now it was getting better.

Looking to his side Tyrion found Sansa watching him with narrowed brows. He smirked at her shrugging innocently. In return she gave him one of those disapproving looks of hers, the ones that always showed him so clearly how her so well breed manners collided with his from time to time, making him feel unworthy.

However, instead of scolding or avoiding him, she simple filled both their cups, offering him one before turning her head to the room in front of him, absently starring. With a gulp of his wine on his tongue he followed her example. He hadn’t ever imagined their marriage to be like this. He wouldn’t complain, instead of glancing at him in repulsion or fleeing from her dwarf husband Sansa choose to simply be with him in silence until one of them would start talking, as soon as the silence had helped to process.

Tyrion somehow enjoyed the silence, it helped him think. And he was with his wife, had her beside him, was able to smell her scent. It was weird how quickly they had fallen into matrimony. For the first time in a long while he could feel normal.

“I still can’t believe you did that.” Sansa broke the silence engulfing them, not looking at him, but still starring in the room. She didn’t sound angry or damning, she was calm a bit disconcerted perhaps.

“I am afraid you must be more precise.” Tyrion followed her example, not ending his inspection of the room, however he tried to sound a bit more cheerful: “I did so many things. Many wicked or cunning or depraved.” He chuckled, adjusting his body in his oversized chair.

“Cunning? You must tell me of those, for I not believe you.” Sansa teased him lightly, the amusement in her voice, relieved Tyrion of the worries he might have had. Nonetheless she continued with a repelled tone: “I mean … I mean doing THAT with a whore. … You know, what the merchant told us about.”

“You mean fucking her in the ass” Tyrion phrased his answer as wicked as possible, chuckling amused. He actually didn’t remember the instance. He had been drunk and the whore had charged him for it the next day. Nevertheless he couldn’t deny that Larros of Lys had made his mouth water, not much with the prospect, but more like how his dear wife was clearly excited about it. She might deny it, but the blush on her cheeks had betrayed her as much as her body. Tyrion was able to read the slight nuances in her posture well enough for that. He finally turned his head to look at her, finding a fierce blush on her cheeks, together with an uncomfortable expression. He snickered: “Come on, you can’t play coy with me. You want this too, you bought the toys.”

“You can be disgusting” Sansa squirmed, eying him “I would never want to … to…”

“What?” Tyrion grinned mischievously. “Say the word.” He pushed, grinning at her, amused about her reluctance.

“I won’t” Sansa’s upbringing made itself noticeable again, much to Tyrion’s enjoyment.

“After all we did together, you still can’t use the proper words can’t you?” He wouldn’t let go of this.

“It’s vulgar” Sansa said matter-of-factly, crossing her arms over her chest. “And I use the _proper_ words.”

“Come on, say it together with me: ffuuck” Tyrion stretched the word as much as he could, beaming wildly at his wife. “It would be easier if you would. We could communicate much better without you in need of finding _proper_ word to phrase your dirty mind.”

“Dirty mind!” she actually sounded offended by his observation: “And that from you.”

“I know you want it, come on” Tyrion pushed her still, chanting with glee: “Together: fuck, cock, cunt, tits and ass. And these are only for starters.”

“You are unbelievable” Sansa slapped his shoulder lightly, crackling up finally with a light giggling.

“I know you want it.” Tyrion had finally broken through to her.

“Fine.” Sansa gave in: “One word.” She took a deep breath, looking uncertain, she silently mouthed: “Fuck.”

Tyrion burst out in wild glee by her effort, falling back in his chair, wholeheartedly laughing. Sansa followed him quickly, first giggling embarrassed before joining his laugh.

“Finally!” Tyrion exhaled, his body shacking with laughter, he triumphantly cried out: “My wife is discourteous.”

“Jester.” Sansa slapped him again lightly, trying to find her composure back, sighing loudly she let herself fall back in her chair. Taking a sip of her wine before gazing at him: “I can’t believe you made me say that.”

“Oh, get used to it, my dear. We have a … a Margaery and enough books and toys to last us a while, meaning a lot of work and crudities to come.” He grinned up to her, toasting her with his cup before settling back down, a warm feeling in his chest, while he watched out of the nearest window in the midday light.

“I think we should start tomorrow.” Sansa said, more serious. Before continuing more anxiously: “I think Margaery should use the day to find rest.”

“Or change her mind?” Tyrion sensed her concerns, straightening up in his chair, turning to her he asked softly: “Do you want that?”

“I am not sure” She replied meekly, her hands clutching her cup. Tyrion reached over, letting his hand rest on hers.

“We will see.” Tyrion had no other idea what to say, tugging her hand he reclined back. He breathed in and out heavily his mind wandering for a moment. It wasn’t until he found back his tranquillity that he asked without jest: “What is she to you?”

“What is she to you?” Sansa countered his question with uncertainty in her voice, the sound matching his own.

“I don’t know.” Tyrion answered truthfully: “I can’t fathom labels for her. She is a highborn Lady, even my dear nephew can’t take that from her, or everyone else for that matter. But she acts like she wants to be _this_.” Tyrion gazed to his wife heavy hearted asking: “I don’t know. A whore maybe? – No. I paid whores. Not only to lie with me, but to pretend. To pretend I wouldn’t the Imp I am, to pretend I would be normal. Margaery doesn’t really fit that description.”

“Don’t call yourself that.” Sansa’s words were hard, but nonetheless demanding. She laid her hand on his shoulder and letting it linger there: “You are my husband and not an Imp” She added sweetly, Tyrion felt the warmth rising further in his chest. He gripped her hand, leaning over to kiss it, smilingly enjoying the moment before returning to the conversation.

“What is she then? A slave, a pet, or cattle even?” He asked, at his wit’s end.

“I often find myself thinking of her like of a living doll.” Sansa confessed, her voice low, burdened with guilt.

“Like a souled object?” Tyrion could feel the darkness descending in the room, fighting the warmth of his chest. “I understand.”

“That is bad, isn’t it?” Sansa sounded frightened, terrified by herself and him. She added near whispering: “Evil.”

“We did not put her in this situation.” Tyrion took her hand from his shoulder in both his hands, stroking her knuckles affectionately while speaking: “We did not put her in this situation, nor do we endorse it. We offered her every path we had to offer, how little conciliation that might be. But she choose this.” Tyrion hardened his voice, not willing to let Sansa or him become the villains of this story. “We don’t force her, but if she – for the time being – wants to be a slave, I say so be it.”

“You make it sound so easy.” Sansa replied silently, a smile hushing over her face.

“We can tell her what awaits her.” Tyrion conceived a plan “If she still wants to submit to this madness, knowing that we will give no quarter, I again say: so be it.”

“No quarter given?” Sansa’s eyes widened.

“I have seen you today Sansa, and I know myself. If she wants this, than we should do what we want too.” He smiled at her, an anticipating smile Sansa returned in agreement. This, whatever it was, was just at the beginning.

 


	5. No quarter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing

“Now cross your wrists behind your back” Sansa instructed, trying to decipher the teachings on the weathered page. She was standing in the centre of the bedroom, one of the books from Lys in one hand, her other gesturing half-heartedly towards Margaery. Her doll was kneeling on the carpet, her nude body exposed to the air, her legs spread, back arched and head down. Somewhat close to what the picture in the book indicated.

Sighing with growing frustration Sansa turned her back to her, holding the book closer to her face, the tiny scribble becoming blurry, while the painted schema didn’t release more of its secrets to her. Her old Valyrian wasn’t as good as she had thought it to be. But who was writing in the dead language anyway? To her annoyance, she had discovered that all the instruction manuals they had bought were written in valyrian. And not he corrupted valyrian of the Free Cities that was much more easy to understand, no in high Valyrian, and to crown it all nearly all books – especially the ones they hadn’t skim through over the last day - seemed to be copied by the same person with tiny, hard to read script.

Abandoning the text she tried again to consult the pictograms, trying to find out if she had instructed Margaery correctly in assuming position. Apparently a slave was supposed to learn a variety of different positions, most kneeling, all revealing, in order to acquire discipline. Sansa was rather sceptical of that. The books itself weren’t so helpful easing her doubts, mostly describing rather heinous acts of brutalisation to bring a slave in line than explaining the reasoning behind.

Cursing herself to let Tyrion leave for his second solar by the treasury, before deciding to start Margaery’s ‘education’ on her own, she turned around, comparing her doll’s pose with the picture again, her frustration rising to unknown levels.

The last two days of rest had been good to Margaery. Colour had returned to her cheeks and the rings under her eyes had disappeared, even the bruises inflicted by Joffrey were fading steadily. Only the burns from her shackles worried Sansa. They were angrily red marks, forcing painful flinches out of her slave whenever the metal was grazing them. She had Brella apply ointment as well as thin bandages, which were able to fit between her skin and the metal.

Margaery had spent the last nights in the chamber of Sansa’s handmaiden, making Brella once again share the room. She had her own bed and peace. Along with the opportunity to reflect on what had happened, and her decisions. Sansa had to admit she somehow had missed the woman’s presence in her bed. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed Tyrion at her side, but something in having Margaery at her feet and disposal felt right. She had been all so more relieved to learn that Margaery hadn’t changed her mind about her choices. Even after she had learned that there would be no restrained anymore from Tyrion or Sansa, that they would embrace her fully as a slave. As perverse it might be.

Margaery had not wavered though. Sansa couldn’t comprehend it. By now she was so far to say that she relinquished the notion of understanding her doll’s thinking. She would just enjoy.

Constantly checking the pages she paced around the brown haired girl on the carpet, her eyes gazing from the book to her and back. More than once she stopped in motion lingering on the unblemished flesh before her. She was in power over her. A power given freely, only shared by her husband.

Even if Tyrion’s interest in their property seemed limited. Yes he obviously was tempted by Margaery. Nonetheless his behaviour showed Sansa evidently that the slave came second, was only a background protagonist. Sansa couldn’t deny that she was flattered by that. She had always perceived Margaery as the more beautiful, more desirable girl to men. But Tyrion - he was hers, his heart was hers. His love for her, the thought of him made her smile with warmth spreading in her. It was good to know that she was loved, that there was someone who truly cared for her. He proved that. It made her happy, truly happy.

The sudden desire to leave Margaery where she was to seek Tyrion out, embracing him, kissing him came over her.

Taking a deep breath she restrained herself, not wanting to ruin her plans for the later day. Plans her husband had no idea about. She refocused her attention back to Margaery, the frustration over the book rising again.

“You know what?” Sansa said frustrated. “You will learn these poses later.” With a sigh she threw the book between her doll’s knees. Rolling her eyes, absently acknowledging Margaery’s obedient reply, she walked to the nearest wine in the room. She filled her cup, taking a large sip, leaning back at the wall all while watching Margaery.

_Why do we need her to do this anyhow?_ Sansa thought to herself, reminiscing about the reasoning in the book while mustering the slave’s back. Sansa found the entire philosophy the books preached rather silly. Beating a slave, making her act in a certain way in order to insure obedience and discipline, dominance and submission. The entire point of this arrangement was that Margaery was obedient on her own. She was obedient, submissive and would probably take everything bestowed on her. Sansa felt no need for silly rituals or codes of behaviour for slave or master or mistress. She would do as she please.

Resolved Sansa pushed herself up from the wall, slowly advancing on her doll. She had a long list of things she wanted to do today, not only training kneeling. In preparation she had forced herself through some of the other books during the last day. It had been painful, but also somehow amusing with Tyrion constantly commenting cunningly on the texts he had been studying alongside her.

“Put that away” Sansa ordered, gesturing to the book on the floor. “Then fetch me the topmost chest from the other room together with the bottle beside it.”

Beaming wolfishly Sansa observed Margaery rising obediently putting away the book and leaving the room to fetch the chest Sansa had already chosen. After she was through the door Sansa strolled over to the bed, dragging a nearby chair with her and sat down in front of the mattress, placing her cup of wine on the bedside table next to her. She felt a mixture of nervousness and anticipation rise in her chest. Her arms and fingers felt tense, twitchy. She couldn’t wait.

Margaery returned shortly with the small chest and the bottle between her hands. She looked uncertain, she had no idea of the content of the objects in her hands. They had explained to her that they wouldn’t give her a quarter, but not what that meant in detail.

Sansa gestured her slave to place both items on the table beside her, watching her smiling while she walked up beside her without hesitation. Her doll bowed down slightly while placing the chest and botte on the table, her rear pushed out in front of Sansa’s face. She couldn’t help herself, with the sight in front of her. She reached out with her hand, stroking over the warm skin, wandering down Margaery’s curve. The doll held her position, allowing Sansa as much freedom to roam as she pleased. She let her hand glide up and down, the wolfish grin returning to her face. Following an impulsive urge, she smacked the cheek under her palm, the crack echoing lightly while the skin moved in a slow impact wave. A little squeal escaped Margaery, widening Sansa’s grin.

“On the bed.” Sansa ordered hoarsely, looking up to the curly back of her doll’s head. “On your hands and knees, legs spread lightly.”

Margaery followed her order immediately, the mattress dipping down lightly when she crawled up on all fours, exposing her backside to Sansa as commanded. Sansa took another moment to admire the view, enjoying to let her doll wait with the uncertainty of what to come. She slowly took a sip of her wine, thinking about the best approach from then on.

Placing her cup carefully on the table Sansa rose to her feet graciously. She turned her attention from the naked woman on her bed towards the chest on the table. Tentatively she opened the golden hinge, revealing the dark blue inside. She let her fingers leisurely slide over the decorated ivory cones, the plugs as they were called. She chose the one on the far left of the row, the one not ticker than her finger. Holding it up to her face she marvelled the filigree carvings, geometric musters, encircling the shaft.

Slowly she walked around the bed to the other side, coming to a stop in front of Margaery. She lowered herself down to be on level with her bowed head. With her free hand she lifted her chin, smiling ominously.

“Do you know what this is?” She asked, holding the plug in front of her doll’s face, her blue eyes fixed on the other girl’s.

“No Mistress” Margaery looked confused, her eyes followed the object Sansa let hover in front of her face. Her expression wasn’t impassive anymore, her lips parted in a bewildered expression.

Her smile not changing Sansa lowered the tip of the plug to Margaery’s lower lip, letting it glide over the pink flesh in agonising slowness. She continued with the way back on the upper lip, all the while smiling, her belly fluttering with anticipation. Her breathing becoming quicker Sansa slowly pushed the cone inside Margaery’s partly opened mouth, the slave’s eyes widened slightly. The shocked expression however was only temporary before she began to suck on the ivory, whereas Sansa moved it in and out between her lips slowly, saliva glistering in the carvings.

“It is not for this” Sansa let out a small giggle, rising back to her full height, removing the plug from Margaery’s lips in the process. Without further explanation she marched back to the other side of the bed, letting her doll in the dark. She was satisfied with the beginning.

Sansa placed the plug on the table, reaching then for the bottle and took out the cork, the scent of olives filling her nose. Taking a cloth, the plug and the bottle with her she moved up on the bed, sitting next to Margaery’s behind.

Leaning back on her heels, her knees sinking in the mattress softly Sansa revered Margaery’s form, the shape of her bottom, the view on the bare flesh between her legs. She placed her tools on the soft sheet, one hand holding the bottle upright while the other reached out. She let her hand wander slowly over her doll’s skin, a certain feeling of power making itself known to her again. A small mewl escaped her slave’s lips, making Sansa’s brows rise.

Accompanied by a piercing slap Sansa shushed the girl beneath her, turning towards the ivory toy, letting Margaery be exposed to the air. Sansa took the cloth, soaking it with the scented oil, careful not to spill it on herself. She saw no reason to sully herself or her gown. Leaning the open bottle against her doll’s thigh Sansa proceeded to use the cloth to lubricate the moist plug. She watched captivated how the oil on the cloth mixed with Margaery’s saliva, the new substance filling the fine carvings of the ivory. She made sure the entire cone-shaped part was oiled thoroughly before turning back to Margaery.

Reciting the book she had used as a manual in her head Sansa was going to be on the safe side. So she used the bottle of oil again, pouring a generous amount down on Margaery’s back, observing light shivers in the girl. The oil slowly streamed down her skin, over her spine and between her ass cheeks. Sansa put the bottle away, steeling herself for what was to do next.

“Reach back and pull your cheeks apart.” She ordered, her voice slightly failing her, she felt herself trembling in anticipation. Her doll obeyed slowly, exposing her splinter to Sansa’s eyes. She took her time mustering it, glistering in the oil. It was small and pink, pressed shut tightly. She went closer, sniffing from instinct, expecting a foul smell, but no. She remembered her doll had taken a bath this morning, deciding she would have her take a bath every morning from now on.

Sansa took a deep breath, her belly a lightning storm of emotions, cold sweet running down her spine, her cheeks flushed. She had never in her life would have imagined to do something like this, it was so improper. But she wanted to do it, like a wanton child wanting its candy.

Carefully she placed the tip of the plug over Margaery’s muscle, provoking a low yelp from her toy. She ignored it, trying to find the best way to place her fingers on the object. Now slowly she pushed, seeing how the muscle gave in. But then she encountered resistance, she couldn’t push forward. Puzzled and unsure Sansa backed up, the toy hadn’t found the way in by more than a quarter inch.

Her breath becoming rapider, filled with panic, she was uncertain what to do, how to act. Ignoring the cries of her mind she placed the plug back on the muscle, pushing harder. Her doll took in a sharp breath, despite the fact Sansa unyieldingly pushed the toy inside her, reaching the largest part. She gave it one short push, overcoming the muscle and watched the ivory slip inside her until the muscle closed over the bridge, now only the small disc visible.

Somewhat satisfied with her accomplishment Sansa admired her work. Margaery’s hands fell to her side, her cheeks closing over her view. Her belly tingled, Sansa made her way around the bed again, sitting down on the mattress before Margaery, again she lifted her chin. She had an uncomfortable expression on her face, pearls of sweet glistering on her forehead. A small pang of guilt befell Sansa.

“It will stay inside you until I say otherwise.” She explained sweetly, discarding her guilt. “We will do this every day from now on until you are ready.” Sansa smiled wolfishly by the startled gaze her doll gave her, but wasn’t willing to release her from her ignorance. “However, find your composure, you are not done for today.”

-##-

Frustrated Tyrion let his gaze wander over the accounts on his desk. Littlefinger had left him with a maze, a maze that hid something inside, he was sure of that, but what? Nonetheless his curiosity wasn’t enough to help him over the documents, not with so much sweeter things waiting for him as soon as he could justify to leave.

His solars had become more of a prison than a retreat, both. The one adjourned to his chambers had been one way to escape Sansa’s repulsive glances in the beginning of their marriage. She had always come there asking his permission to go to the Godswood and pray, not willing to understand she hadn’t had to bide his consent, but her upbringing had forced her. However since everything had changed that particular solar had lost its use for Tyrion.

His other solar, the one he was forced to spend his time in, doing his duty as Master of Coins had never been something else, much like his appointment as guardian of the treasury, than unwanted. He hated the room, the stench, Littlefinger had left – expensive, luxurious furnishing and trinkets betraying their buyer as the social climber he was; like in a whorehouse, imitating the old dignity of old Houses without truly understanding.

His head started to hurt, so he threw the parchment in his hand to the pile on the table behind him theatrically. Sighing he took his cup for a heavy gulp of strong wine, reclining in his chair. He was weary thinking about the accounts, his back starting to ache again. He hated it. He could spend hours reading books, sharpening his mind, like a swordsman sharpening his sword.

He had told this to Sansa’s bastard brother once. Tyrion remembered, he wondered what had happened to the boy, if he was still alive. He would be the last bit of family Sansa had keft. He found himself hoping the boy would be alive, maybe he could find him once they had made their way to Winterfell. He wondered if his wife would cry out in joy seeing her brother, or weep for all she had lost. He really didn’t want to think about it.

He spent long hours, he was supposed to work in the name of the King, thinking about what he could do to make her truly happy. He would, when the time came to reclaim Winterfell, he would be prepared. Bronn would have an army of Sellswords ready, in case the Northerners had other ideas than following her. And then he would bring gruesome punishment on everyone, who had aided in causing her sorrow, within the misfortune to be in his reach. He had a list, in his mind, a long list, starting with his nephew on top, and him second. He might not be able to simply kill his blood, he wasn’t even sure if he would be able to, no matter how tempting it was sometimes – lions should never kill lions, even his father wasn’t able to kill him, the dwarf, he should be better than that after all – however, the likes of Bolton or the Ironborn would sooner or later be in his reach. Nobody should be able to blame him for trying to be romantic.

This time, though, hadn’t come yet, so he had to try himself on smaller things. He was too lucky of a dwarf to sit idly by while bestowed with a wife like her, especially now. He really felt a connection with her, a love even surpassing what he had felt for Tysha, before the reveal. He wasn’t sure she truly loved him, - how should he, never had he experienced more than mummeries of love – nor did he care, but he knew she truly felt affection for him, that was more than he had ever had. He loved her, not only for this, a love not only born out of his wanton desires for a warm body or her affection, but for everything else she was.

He had found himself especially enjoying fantasising how they would continue with Margaery. He had told her that, discovering her perversions easily matched his. He had never imagined he could have a marriage like this, that he and his wife could share such dark desires, living them out for their personal pleasure. He dreamed how far they would go, to what extent they would drive each other. However, he even thought about if it would corrupt them, him especially. Would he change?

He had never thought it possible to do with Margaery what they did without being judged. Sansa didn’t judge him, would he be as he was, act as he had done if there had been someone who loved him unconditional? Or would he turn into the creature everyone thought him to be? Would he drag Sansa with him? Both of them becoming cruel? Given her and his intellect, abilities and claims they could cause havoc unseen?

His brooding was interrupted by a light knock at the door. Expecting a petitioner, or worse, a messenger of his father, calling him to a meeting, or again worse, he recomposed himself in his chair calling the unwanted guest in.

The shapely form that hushed through the door however, closing it behind her, wasn’t as unwanted as he had thought. Light-footed she walked into the room, her hair waving behind her openly, the shackles hidden by the simple green gown Sansa had had made for her, only the bulges in the fabric betraying their presence. Her doe eyes downcast she approached his desk, holding out a folded piece of parchment.

Without a word spoken Tyrion glanced Margaery up and down, puzzled about what was going on. He fished the paper out of her delicate hand, she curtsied when he took it. Eying her suspiciously he unfolded the paper, finding Sansa’s gentle handwriting:

_I gave her a task, two actually. Don’t make me punish her for she isn’t allowed to speak._

_Let her show you what I did and then enjoy the play._

_S._

Grinning deviously Tyrion looked up from the short note, his mismatched eyes finding his wife’s doll – for all it was worth that was how he had decided to see her, ironic considering Joffrey had thought he would gift his unwanted queen to him.

“So my wife got creative.” He smirked, his voice betraying his interest. “I figure it was not with a needle. Or was it?” He once again looked Margaery up and down, not finding a mark. “You don’t need to talk. I know you are forbidden. So show me the great secret.”

He pushed himself and his chair away from the desk, making room for the slave to stand in front of him. She came immediately, halting before him, eyes averted. Tyrion rotated his hand, gesturing her to move on.

Without a word, as ordered by Sansa, Margaery turned around, exposing her back to him. She bent over his desk, laying her body over the so hated parchments, her hair falling to her sides. Without further ado she lifted the hem of her gown, bringing it over her ass fixing it at her sides.

Tyrion marvelled the spectacle dumfounded by its easiness. How the highborn Lady so quickly exposed her uncovered, round ass to him. He wouldn’t say no, he liked to watch her ass, round cheeks with a nice form, not as perfect as Sansa’s ass but nothing to complain about.

His eyes widened in still not subsided surprise when Margaery reached back, spreading her arse, offering him a view on a small ivory disc locked between her mounts. His grin widened by the sight, imagine how his dear wife had shoved the toy inside their little property caused his cock to stir, hardening to bulge his breeches.

“Turn around, I saw it.” He said huskily, his voice failing him while the blood drained to other body parts. Margaery obeyed submissively, her gown falling back to the ground, halting so close to it that her ankle bounds couldn’t be seen. She turned around, hands folded in front of her, eyes downcast. Tyrion just smirked finding his voice and wit back: “I see my wife used a needle after all. Just wait until it is replaced by my cock.”

The girl’s eyes widened by his words, he could observe her lips parting when she rushed her head upwards, starring him in the face, eyes on his missing nose. He must have seriously disturbed her with his words. Tyrion’s grin faded by her facial expression, it made him feel uncomfortable in his skin. His features softened. He gulped, fearing he had found the other human’s breaking point.

To his relieve the shocked expression faded out of her face quickly, replaced by the usual neutrality, that didn’t reassure him as much as it might should. He didn’t like to never get a real opinion, but simple submission out of the girl. The situation reminded him too much of the first weeks of his marriage, with the difference that he had always been able to measure Sansa’s reasons.

“So…” Tyrion intoned, not letting his chain of thoughts be fathomable, he returned his grin raising his eyebrows expectantly: “What shall I enjoy now?”

He could have sworn he saw a light smile dance over the doll’s face before she stepped closer to him, dropping on her knees, while gently urging him to open his legs. He hadn’t to be urged for that, his cock painfully hardening again, his mind clouded with lust, predicting what would be next. Tentatively Margaery opened his breeches, her fingers warmth and touch felt by his cock through the fabric.

Tyrion leaned back in his chair, his hands laid on the rests, he watched her aroused, tempted to touch. He however didn’t, for he wanted to play the game his wife had set for him.

He breathed in content when the slave finally released his throbbing erection, one of her soft hands closing around it while the other procured his balls, massaging them. Tyrion let out a groan, his head falling back as soon as Margaery placed a light kiss on the head of his cock. With the skill he had experienced before she kissed his shaft down, her hand aiding her by going up and down. New was when she didn’t stop at his balls but continued her administration, taking one of his testicles in her warm, wet mouth sucking at it.

Another hoarse groan escaped him, his hands gripping the rests until his knuckles turned white. As on cue Margaery made her way upwards his manhood again, her lips engulfing more and more of his flesh until she reached the head taking it into her mouth. She began to suck on him vigorously, her tongue with its sharp tip working its magic on the underside of his member. She took more and more of him inside her, however never going as far down as she had been at the first time. Tyrion didn’t care, he was fully engulfed in his pleasure, realising how much he had missed a warm mouth around his cock.

Margaery fell into a steady pace, bobbing up and down on his cock, one hand supporting her on Tyrion’s member while the other massaged his balls. Tyrion’s brain had stopped working, eyes shut he enjoyed his wife’s little mindfulness to send him a relief for his frustration.

It didn’t take long for him to feel the build-up of the act tightening his balls. With the familiar feeling he released his seed in Margaery’s mouth, who had her lips sealed tight around his flesh. He moaned loudly, not caring who could hear him – most likely no one considering he was basically in a dungeon. He felt how the doll kept her lips around him, sucking him dry while simultaneously using her soft tongue to encircle his cock agonisingly.

She released him shortly after, remaining on her position until Tyrion found his composure back, Margaery used the time to close his breeches. He finally locked down on her, her cheeks were flushed, lips pressed together to thin lines. It was a weird expression, forcing him to muster her more closely. She kept something in her mouth. Hadn’t she swallowed his seed? If no, why?

Tyrion was nearly seduced to make her talk, or at least open her mouth to see if he was right, though, he decided not to, the note of Sansa coming back to his mind. This was her game, how could he deny her her fun? Tyrion nodded towards Margaery releasing her of whatever bondage held her on her knees, too interested to see what would be next.

She rose to her feet, only to curtsy in front of him again, before leaving the room in a hurried pace. He hadn’t noticed if she swallowed. He would have to ask Sansa as soon as he could leave his dungeon.

“A rather anticlimactic leave.” He whispered to himself, pulling himself and the chair back to the desk, his parchments now crumbled all over the place Margaery had bent over. Tyrion however found his frustration had left, at least for the moment. On the other side his longing for Sansa had become more prominent, his day would be tortures indeed.

He was just about to start again when the door took his attention back. It was swung open without a knock, nearly crushing into the wall. He looked up startled, his breath failed a second by who he saw.


End file.
